


Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Shatter

by AG_systems



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Coping, Drama, Dreams, Gen, Go Fish, Going Out for a Jog, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Job Interviews, Loss of Parent(s), Memories, Metalworking, Mild Language, Moving On, Moving Out, OSHA violations, Paralysis, Poker, Solitaire - Freeform, Things will work out, Trauma, Wheelchairs, World Mystery, ball bearings, disabled main character, disorientation, glassblowing, how do you avoid spoilers in tags :P, spinal cord injury, welp running out of tag ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 71
Words: 38,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AG_systems/pseuds/AG_systems
Summary: A sea of corruption spreads over the Pokémon world. It drives its inhabitants insane, leads those who enter into doomed paths, cannot be stopped by any Pokémon power.However…There are the arcane magics. Forbidden to all, even the Pokémon of legend.A human, turned into a Pokémon and injured beyond repair.A blacksmith’s son, yearning to make his mark.A daughter of scholars, their only survivor, lost.What hope is there?That which you make for yourself.An original story based on Pokémon Mystery Dungeon, bite-sized for your convenience!Updates every other Thursday!Ballin'
Comments: 51
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> See the end of Chapter 3 for more intro notes.

“Are you serious.”  
  
What else could there be though. He hasn’t been to the grocery store in almost a month.  
  
The bare shelves of the refrigerator stare back at him. Just a bit of milk in the bottom of that half-gallon. Probably spoiled. And a few slices of deli meat left in a plastic container.  
  
The sterile light from the fridge illuminates his face, underscoring the bags under his eyes. An unkempt beard roughens his jawline, and his hair is in dire need of a cut. At any other time, he’d look attractive, handsome even. Now though…  
  
He straightens up with a groan, shutting the fridge door. He’s already checked the cupboards: not even a box of mac ’n’ cheese or can of soup.  
  
He really doesn’t want to go out. But he doesn’t have much of a choice. He lives alone, and he doesn’t have the money for delivery. He grabs his keys and his bandana with a sigh and heads for the door.  
  
  
  
An hour later, he returns.  
  
He drops the bulging paper bags on the linoleum floor, and stumbles into the living room. Collapses onto the couch.  
  
_Calm._  
  
_Take it slow._  
  
_Deep breaths._  
  
  
  
He’s exhausted.  
  
He never liked going to the grocery store  
(who does?),  
but who knew the experience would be so…  
…harrowing?  
  
  
  
Masks everywhere.  
  
Fear and worry in everyone’s eyes.  
  
Soap, toilet paper, flour, all the essentials, sold out.  
  
A feeling of dirtiness on everything. A feeling of something foreign, something malignant, in the air.  
  
Constant reminders, from the acrylic sheets at the registers to the announcements on the PA system.  
  
  
  
Deep breaths. His bandana hangs loosely around his neck.  
  
Deep breaths.  
  
He made sure to buy more than he needed. Stock up.  
  
At least he can work from home. He doesn’t have to go out to support himself.  
  
His family lives on the other side of the country, but they’re heeding the warnings. They’re safe.  
  
His phone lies next to him, an article glowing on the screen. Just passed a hundred thousand.  
  
  
  
He falls asleep, there on the couch, his groceries forgotten in the kitchen.  
  
The anxiety, the pit in his stomach, pushes strange images and pungent worries across his mind.  
  
  
  
He hears something. Like a door creak.  
  
Suddenly he lurches awake, eyes wide, staggering to his feet. Night has fallen, with only streetlight shafting through the blinds. Subconsciously he yanks his bandana up and over his nose and mouth.  
  
“W-Who’s there?? What are you doing in my house?”  
  
An idle thought crosses his mind: _you’re half asleep. Nothing’s out there._  
  
But there again: a floorboard creak.  
  
He staggers into the kitchen, gropes around for a drawer. Pulls out a knife.  
  
Did he forget to lock the door? Someone desperate enough to intrude?  
  
He holds the knife at the ready, eyes darting, creeping slowly back into the living room.  
  
And then, he sees them.  
  
  
  
An otherworldly being, glowing with light. Standing—no, _floating_ —over his couch.  
  
Staring straight at him.  
  
He tightens his grip. “…Wh- who— what are you doing here? What _are_ you?”  
  
The figure doesn’t move. Its features are roughly canine, almost…jackal-esque. It looks powerful. Tangible light creeps around its form, especially around its arms.  
  
Eyes burning with an aquamarine brilliance.  
  
  
  
**“I need you.”**  
The words echo in his mind.  
  
  
  
It raises a forepaw,  
energy gathers around it,  
and shoots straight at him,  
striking him in the chest.  
  
Indescribable pain erupts from his chest, burning searing agony.  
He falls backward with a cry.  
And continues falling.  
Where’s the floor?  
Falling faster and faster, gaining speed.  
Still, the pain. Tearing at his flesh. Tearing at his insides. White hot pain.  
He screams silently.  
Azure night closing around him.  
Golden light flashes around him.  
Scraps of glowing light peeling away.  
Feeling his hands, feet, arms, legs, head, torn off burning.  
Further down, down, down,  
down,  
down.  
  
Falling like a meteor.  
  
  
  
_**~ BOOOOOOOOOOOM ~**_


	2. Chapter 2

  


### PART 1:

#### Gathering

  
  
  
  
_**~ BOOOOOOOOOOOM ~**_  
  
“Abwbahblhwhaaat was that!!”  
  
A cyndaquil flails around in the darkness, tumbling out of her hammock in a heap.  
  
She shakes the stars out of her eyes, and scrambles over to her friend. “Evi! _Evi!_ Wake up Evi!” she hisses, jostling her side. “Didn’t you hear that??”  
  
The eevee grumbles mutinously, burrowing deeper into her blankets on the floor. “Geez, Flint, I was having such a nice dream…”  
  
Flint grabs the blankets and yanks with all her might, leaving Evi shivering in the night. “I’m serious Evi!! I heard a crash! Come on let’s find out what it is!” She can barely keep her voice down.  
  
Her friend groans again, swiping for the blankets but just batting empty air. Reluctantly, blinking sleep out of her eyes, Evi climbs to her feet. “Ughhhh. Why is it always the middle of the night when you want to do this? Your ma is gonna kill us.”  
  
“She’s never gonna knowwwww! Now come _on_ Eviiiii!!!”  
  
  
  
The night is still, but the air is bristling.  
  
The sky shimmers with thousands of stars, like grains of glistening sand in an azure beach. Dark clumps of clouds drift lazily by, patches of darkness in the milkiness. Pine trees swish and wave in the distance. The moon is nowhere to be found, but Flint and Evi can see well enough.  
  
Nothing seems out of ordinary in town, so they make their way down towards the lake. Evi has to jog in place to stay warm; despite it being late spring, it’s still pretty chilly.  
  
“What do you think it was, Flint?” she asks.  
  
Flint leads the way. She’s plenty warm as is. “I dunno!! It was a huge BOOM. A geyser maybe? Or a volcano erupting??”  
  
Evi laughs. Always jumping to the biggest, craziest answer. The line of peaks she can see in the distance are as silent and serene as ever. “It was probably a tree falling over in the forest. Or a couple pokémon fighting.” But still, she follows her friend. She never could say no to a bit of adventure, and the night positively reeks of it.  
  
They scurry off the hill, scuffling onto the sandy beach of the lake. The surface of the water is breathtaking; smooth like glass, as reflective as a mirror, shining with a million stars. A whole ‘nother sky…or an endless void they could fall into.  
  
The air is sharp. With a distinct smell of ozone.  
  
Evi shivers. “I dunno, Flint. Maybe it was just a dream.” She flicks her head this way and that, surveying the scene. “There’s nothing out here…”  
  
And trails off.  
  
“What?” Flint asks. “What is it?” But she sees it too: the faintest glow, halfway around the lake. Evi’s already racing there. “Hey wait Evi!” What could it be? An old fire?  
  
But no. As she approaches, she sees it’s not embers, but the _beach sand itself._ It’s uncomfortably warm under her footpaws. She struggles to breathe, the air too warm and too stuffy for this time of year and this time of night.  
  
A circular ridge of sand rises in front of her.  
  
Flint’s breath catches in her throat. “Evi!! Maybe it was a shooting star…” She rushes around to the other side, where her friend is already staring.  
  
There lies a pikachu.


	3. Chapter 3

“MAMA! MAMA! WAKE UP MAMA!!”  
  
Flint bursts into her house, crashing into her mother. A candle clatters to the ground, breaking in half. Evi wisely chooses to stay outside.  
  
A plume of smoke curls from the typhlosion’s mouth as she reaches down. “Flint,” her voice tired but just as heated. “It’s the middle of the night, what have I told you abo—“  
  
“There’s a pikachu Mama!! On the beach! They’re badly hurt!!”  
  
Her mother’s eyes widen. Immediately she rushes to her room, her anger and exhaustion evaporated. “I’ll come right away. Where’s Evelin?”  
  
A timid voice murmurs from outside. “Here ma’am...” The eevee shuffles inside.  
  
The typhlosion comes back with a satchel slung over her shoulder. Her eyes are hard as the metal she works. “Now I need you both to tell me what happened. Quickly.”  
  
Flint begins. “I, uh, I heard a loud crash outside, and—“  
  
Evi interrupts. “We don’t know, ma’am. We found them down by the lake, lying on the beach. The sand was all hot, they didn’t wake up but they looked like they were in pain. They’re…they’re missing a tail…”  
  
Flint’s mother nods. “Evelin, I need you to go get Wojtek. Tell him we may need something to carry them with.” Evi hesitates. “Now, Evelin. We can’t waste a second.” She nods and bounds off into the night.  
  
She then turns to her daughter. “Alright, Flint. Take me to them.”  
  
  
  
Flint watches anxiously as her mother inspects the fallen pikachu. Bits of melted sand litter the beach, reflecting starlight innocently.  
  
It really does look like they fell from the sky; the sand forms a perfect crater around them. But where could they have fallen from? Really, fell from the sky? Were they so hot the sand melted into glass? How did they survive falling like that?  
  
The pikachu lays curled in a ball, holding their head in their forepaws, teeth gritting in unconsciousness. Sand all over them. There’s an odd hump in their back, between the typical brown stripes of fur. But underneath the stripes…  
  
…no tail.  
  
She and Evi looked all over the beach for it, before they ran home. They couldn’t find it.  
  
A sharp intake of breath breaks her train of thought. “The sand has already started to burn them. They have to move.” Carefully as she can Flint’s mother digs under the pikachu’s still body, half-lifting half-sliding them over to cooler ground.  
  
Now Flint can see them: three large burns on their right side, one on their cheek. She flinches.  
  
Her mother sets them down and quickly pulls an herb, two berries, and a small wooden bowl from her satchel, and begins making a salve.  
  
“Flint, help me apply this to the burns.”  
  
She doesn’t move. She keeps eyeing the empty spot on their rear.  
  
_“Flint.”_  
  
She jumps, and hurries to her mother’s side. She’s scared to touch them, but they need their help. She grimaces as she smoothes the berry salve over one of the burns. Their skin is so hot.  
  
Their face is contorted in pain, even though they’re unconscious.  
  
“…Are they going to be okay, Mama?”  
  
Her mother’s face never betrays much emotion; she’s had to learn the small tells. Tonight, though, her face tells volumes.  
  
“I don’t know, Flint.”  
  
  
  
“Flint!! Fierra ma’am!!” Evi’s voice drifts over the lake.  
  
Flint whips up to see Evi and Wojtek running over the sandy shore, Evi carrying a bundle and Wojtek a bunch of long poles. “Over here!!” she calls and waves.  
  
They close the gap in moments, Evi heaving with breath. Wojtek upon seeing the pikachu immediately drops the poles and inspects them, running his large claws over the pikachu’s body.  
  
“Are they gonna be okay, Wojtek sir??” More than a hint of desperation creeps into Flint’s voice.  
  
“Stay calm, Flint.” She ignores her mother and stares at the ursaring, pleading.  
  
He grunts, noting the distinct lack of tail. “I’ll do my best. At least they’re still alive, but by what miracle I don’t know.” He continues his checkup. “Neck seems okay but could be strained…broken rib there…” He looks up to the typhlosion, gesturing at the odd hump. “Look at this: I’m fairly sure their back is broken. Carrying them up to town might make it worse.”  
  
Fierra huffs. “And you’d rather treat broken ribs and sprains and burns, all here on the sand? We can’t leave them here, Wojtek.”  
  
Wojtek sighs. “Yeah, you’re right… Could you light their back quick? I need to see if the stump needs to be cauterized.”  
  
A quick _~ fwoosh ~_ and the beach glows with orange light. Wojtek turns his head over the spot.  
  
“Strange…it seems like an old injury. At least there’s no open wound.” He nods to the typhlosion, who extinguishes her shoulders.  
  
He turns to the others. “Okay. Evelin, bring over the bundle, Flint, get four poles; we’re going to need to brace them…”  
  
  
  
A small procession winds up the hill. Two children running ahead, two adults carefully carrying a stretcher between them.  
  
With that, the pikachu enters Pinewood Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks again for reading! I've been writing off and on for the past five years, but this is my first uploaded work. Excited to see where this goes!
> 
> Just a couple notes:  
> 
> 
>   * I'm big on reveals, so I'm keeping the tags vague to avoid spoilers. I'll add more as I progress the story.
>   * I'm kind of experimenting with improv-style storytelling, where I have a general idea of the overarching plot, but everything else is up in the air. Keeps it engaging for me as well as you!
>   * I tend to write short chapters, as they work better with my general writing style. That said, I'll try to upload a group of chapters at a time, so as to not have TOO many cliffhangers. :P
> 

> 
> Cheers! ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

Pain.  
  
All he could feel was pain.  
  
All-encompassing pain.  
  
White-hot, unending.  
  
  
  
And in the midst of that pain,  
  
sorrow.  
  
But where did the sorrow come from?  
  
It was not his own.


	5. Chapter 5

Birds chirping, in the distance.  
  
His eyes flutter open. Looking upwards at a thatched roof, wooden beams criss-crossing above. Dust motes float above him in the light.  
  
He blinks.  
  
He tries to inhale, but immediately searing pain arcs through his chest and down his back.  
  
He clenches his ribcage, screws his eyes shut. _Calm, take it easy. Slow breaths._  
  
  
  
He carefully cracks his eyes open.  
  
Same thatched roof. Same dusty air. Same shafting sunlight.  
  
This doesn’t look right.  
  
_Am I dreaming?_  
  
The pain feels too sharp to be a dream.  
  
He lifts himself up on his elbows with a groan. He feels tightness wrapped around his torso. Peers down his front.  
  
He can’t see his legs for the blanket. White bandages around his chest. _What…_  
  
Peeking through some of the wraps: yellow.  
  
_Yellow…? I don’t own any yellow shirts…_  
  
He peers around the room. Rustic, in a word. The walls constructed with logs. A table with an inset basin, littered with gauze and clay jars. A rough hewn chair in the corner. A solid door in the far wall. Bright sunlight, judging from his own shadow, from the window behind him. Long waving grass through another window to the side.  
  
Something feels off. Besides the pain.  
  
He peers down at the blanket covering his legs.  
  
He can’t feel them.  
  
Cold sweat beads under his arms.  
  
He can’t move them.  
  
It’s like they’re not even there.  
  
He whips out an arm, jerks the blanket away.  
  
No, they’re still there.  
  
They’re just…yellow.  
Stubby.  
Rodent-looking.  
  
With a start, he looks at his arm.  
Yellow.  
A bit pudgy.  
Small grabby hand.  
  
He drops the blanket and feels his face.  
Rounder.  
Flatter.  
A tiny button nose.  
  
Reaches up.  
Two long pointed ears.  
  
More sweat.  
  
_I’m…I’m a…_  
  
“Pikachu! I’m coming in!”


	6. Chapter 6

In a panic the pikachu scrabbles at his neck, reaching for something that isn’t there.  
_I can’t let them in here_  
_We’re still in lockdown_  
_Where’s my bandana_  
There! On a table, bedside. His green bandana. White pattern. Quick as a flash he snatches it and holds it up over his nose and mouth. “You shouldn’t—“  
  
Through the door walks a bear. Clutching an armful of fruit. Its back is turned; he can’t see its face.  
  
“Oho! You’re awake! Took you long enough.”  
  
He whips his head around; there’s no one else here. Who said that?  
  
The bear trundles over to the table, dumping the fruit into a basket on the floor. And then it turns and looks at him.  
  
Their eyes are bright and intelligent.  
  
They frown. “…Why are you covering your face?”  
  
The bear talked.  
  
“A-and why aren’t you?” the pikachu stammers, voice muffled by the bandana. “Hallucination or not, there’s a freaking _pandemic_ going on!”  
  
Blinks from the bear. “A what?”  
  
“‘Pandemic??’ Does _coronavirus_ ring any bells? Sure you’re a talking bear, but you can’t seriously—“  
  
The bear walks slowly to the bedside, and gently but firmly pushes him down, pulling the blanket back over his legs. “Alright, quiet down. You’re feverish. You had a bad dream.”  
  
He roughly shoves the bear’s arm aside. It feels scarily realistic. “No, I’m _having_ a bad dream! I’ve turned into a pikachu and a bear’s talking to me and—“  
  
A spasm of pain rips out of his chest and arcs down his spine like electricity. He drops the bandana and clutches his chest again. “Aghhhh…”  
  
The bear quickly steps away and returns, holding a blue fruit in its claw. “Eat this.”  
  
He wants to do nothing of the sort.  
  
The bear pushes the fruit against his nose. “You’ve got a broken rib, several burns. You _need_ this.”  
  
But as more and more sensations wash over him, from the warmth of the sunlight to the furry paw on his shoulder to the vivid blue of the fruit right in front of his eyes to the excruciating pain erupting from his back,  
  
he starts to realize.  
  
He’s not hallucinating.  
  
This is real.


	7. Chapter 7

_Deep breaths. Slow breaths._  
  
_Figure out what’s going on first. You can panic later._  
  
He wills himself to calm down. He takes the fruit.  
  
The bear doesn’t move. Keeps staring.  
  
Reluctantly he takes a bite.  
  
It tastes horrible. Like potpourri soap. But he chokes it down.  
  
Slowly a comforting wave flows up from his stomach, taking the edge off the pain.  
  
He looks up at the bear. They smile. In a ferocious sort of way.  
  
He eats some more.  
  
Still disgusting. But with each swallow, more and more energy. Until the sharp pain is reduced to a dull throb.  
  
The bear watches until he finishes the fruit.  
  
“There,” they say. “We need you to get your strength back. I’ll get you another.”  
  
He grabs the bear’s arm. “Wait. …I need…ughhh…” He ate too fast.  
  
The bear recognizes his expression. “Oh…sorry there, you’re probably nauseated.” They wait for it to pass.  
  
The pikachu, still gripping their arm, looks up and peers into the bear’s eyes. Uncanny. Intelligent.  
  
“I’m not dreaming. Am I?”  
  
The bear frowns again, worried. “Nope. We’re both wide awake.”  
  
He pauses, takes another deep breath. “I…I’m sorry, but… what are you?”  
  
The worry intensifies. “I’m…an ursaring. You’ve never seen an ursaring before?”  
  
He grimaces. “Can’t say I have.” He lets go of the ‘ursaring’s’ arm. “…Could I have some water?”  
  
The ursaring breaks his confused stare and goes over to the basin, dipping a bowl. And returns.  
  
He drinks slowly. The water is lukewarm, but slakes his burning throat.  
  
The ursaring pulls up the chair from the corner of the room and sits backwards on it. “What do you remember? You might have taken a blow to the head, on top of everything else.”  
  
  
  
He doesn’t look up from his bowl.  
  
He didn’t want to talk about this so soon.  
  
What does he tell them? This place looks nothing like his apartment. He probably already sounded crazy yelling about the pandemic.  
  
He can’t even begin to explain what happened right before he lost consciousness.  
  
“I…  
  
“…don’t know…?”  
  
He looks up.  
  
“I don’t remember.”  
  
  
  
The ursaring looks concerned. Really, genuinely worried.  
  
That scares him more than anything else.  
  
  
  
They suddenly stand up. “The town lead will want to hear this. Fierra and Flint too; they’re the ones who found you. I’ll bring them back to speak with you.” They step towards the door.  
  
“W-Wait! I’ll come with you!” He throws the covers aside.  
  
And stares at his immobile legs.  
  
The bear just looks at him sadly. “I don’t think you can.” And walks out the door.  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

His bandana rests in his limp hand, next to the water bowl.  
  
He stares at the door the ursaring left.  
  
It takes everything in his power to keep from falling into hysterics.  
  
  
  
He’s a pokémon.  
  
He’s a pikachu.  
  
He’s going crazy.  
  
Except he’s not going crazy. All of this is real.  
  
Really real.  
  
He hugs himself too hard. Pain crackles through his chest again. He wheezes.  
  
Yep. Really real.  
  
And the most real thing?  
  
He’s paralyzed from the waist down.  
  
  
  
He grabs his pillow to scream into. His ribs scream along with him. Doesn’t help much. Neither does slow breathing. The meditation exercises he learned at the beginning of quarantine weren’t designed to deal with this sort of trauma.  
  
Not only that. Unhinged thoughts crowd out everything else in his mind.  
  
_Where is that bear ‘ursaring’ thing from? Is it also a pokémon? Dammit why didn’t I play Pokémon Go for more than a month_  
  
_This has to be a hallucination. Please let me be high or something_  
  
_Why didn’t I lock the apartment door, why didn’t I demand the landlord to install a security system_  
  
_My legs…I can’t be…There’s no way_  
  
_That damn glowing dog, it did this to me_  
  
He drops the pillow. Wait. That’s right. He forgot the last thing that happened before he fell into that abyss. That otherworldly jackal. It shot him through the chest with some beam and…  
  
He shivers.  
  
What did they say?  
  
That they…needed him?  
  
  
  
A knock on the door. They’re back.  
  
His eyes widen. _Crap—_  
  
He struggles to lean forward enough to awkwardly stuff the pillow back behind him. The water bowl clatters to the floor.  
  
“Pikachu?” Another voice he doesn’t recognize. “Are you alright?”  
  
“S-Sorry! I’m fine, just—”  
  
He grits his teeth against the pain in his ribs. He just manages to squeeze it back there. He pushes the bandana under the blanket and arranges his hands on top.  
  
“—alright! C-Come in!”  
  
  
  
In walk a small crowd of creatures. One, two, three, four five six? One of them, a tall slender badger, hisses at the two smallest, telling them to wait outside. They relent only after much protest, leaving the door open to listen.  
  
He swallows.  
  
The bear—oh, ursaring—is there, and leading them is a…kangaskhan?! Finally, another pokémon he recognizes! “Hello Pikachu,” she says, inclining her head. “Happy to see you’re awake.”  
  
He awkwardly inclines his too.  
  
She raises a claw to her chest. “My name is Neste. I am the current leader of Pinewood Town.” She gestures to the ursaring. “You’ve already met Wojtek; he takes care of our medical needs.” Wojtek scratches the back of his head. “And this here is Fierra, and her son Vidri. Her daughter Flint found you on the beach, along with Evelin. They’re waiting outside.”  
  
He’s overwhelmed by the flood of names and pronouns. “…Found…me?” he murmurs.  
  
Neste nods. “And what is your name?”  
  
“I…uh…” He opens his mouth to say it, but instead out comes “…Arc. It’s Arc.”   
  
_What, my chatname? Why didn’t I just use my actual—_  
  
“Arc. Interesting.” Another voice cuts off his bewildered thoughts; it’s coming from the badger-looking pokémon. ‘Fierra’…?  
  
A high-pitched voice yells from outside. “And are you a he or a she? Or something else???”  
  
Fierra’s eyes widen, and she whips around to shush the offender. His cheeks burn with awkwardness. He can hear a plaintive “but how else are we supposed to know…”  
  
Fierra turns back. “I’m sorry Arc, Flint needs to work on her manners.” Another pointed glare behind her.  
  
Neste speaks up. “Though…if you don’t mind, it would be good to know what to call you.”  
  
They all look at him expectantly.  
  
Can they not tell?  
  
He squirms under their gaze. “I’m…uh…male…”  
  
Neste smiles. “We don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Arc. Has your tail been gone long?”  
  
“My…what?”  
  
He peeks under the covers, tries to spread his legs—can’t—the pit in his stomach swells—grimaces past that and just looks.   
  
It’s true; there’s no lightning-bolt tail down there.  
  
A pikachu without a tail? Is that even possible?  
  
He glances up to see everyone still staring at him. Fierra raises an eyebrow.  
  
Sweat beads in his armpits. “Oh! I… y-yes, it has. I…lost it. …Some years ago.” He hurriedly puts the blanket back.   
  
Neste shakes her head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure that makes life difficult for you.”  
  
He rubs the back of his head. “I’ve…gotten used to it.” _Can we **please** just move on…_  
  
He sees, standing slightly behind Fierra, another pokémon. Shorter, more like a weasel than a badger, though the same color. Must be her son. The species looks familiar…probably one of the few he’s seen outside the original 151. Can’t remember what it’s called though.  
  
He stares at him with an intense gaze. More sweat.  
  
“Anyway. Welcome to Pinewood Town, Arc.” His attention is called back to the kangaskhan. “Rest assured you can take all the time you need to rest and recover.”  
  
He inclines his head again. “Uh…thank you.” He pauses. “I…do really appreciate what you have done for me. It must have been serious…”  
  
The group stares at him yet again. He wilts. “What happened…?”  
  
Neste looks concerned. “So it’s true? You don’t remember what happened?”  
  
He shakes his head.   
  
  
  
After a moment, Fierra steps forward.  
  
“My daughter found you down by the lake, half-buried in the sand. You had several burns, a broken rib, and…” She looks down at his blanket. “…well. The sand was blown up all around you, like you had fallen from the sky and impacted there.”  
  
“There were bits of glass everywhere!!” He jumps; must be Flint chiming in again. Fierra pinches the bridge of her nose.  
  
“I saw it too.” The ursaring this time, Wojtek. “Where you landed. I can’t think of any other explanation. But where you fell from, I can’t say.”  
  
Neste nods her head. “It’s a miracle you’re here with us at all. Granted you sustained a grave injury, but by all accounts you should not have survived.”  
  
  
  
He…fell from the sky?  
  
The sensations and memories come flowing again.  
  
The azure night, glowing light…  
  
Pain…tearing…  
  
Falling…  
  
A meteor…  
  
  
  
He rubs his face. “I don’t…understand…”  
  
Wojtek replies, nonplussed. “Neither do we. We were hoping you could explain.”  
  
“I…”  
  
He stares at his hands. The small stubby little things, more animal than human.  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened to me, and even if I did…how would I explain it?”  
  
Fierra looks to Wojtek. Neste continues to watch him. The silence is unbearable; even Flint is quiet.  
  
“One moment I was safe at home, and the next…I’m here with strangers, in a strange place.”   
  
All technically correct, but.  
  
“And now I’m…”  
  
A tear falls onto his bandages.  
  
“I’m…I’m…”


	9. Chapter 9

Wojtek steps towards him, but Neste grabs his shoulder.  
  
She looks to the pikachu. “We’re so sorry, Arc. We’ve done all we can.”  
  
More tears.  
  
She sighs. “You might need some time. Wojtek lives next door; call for him if you need. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” She motions to the others.  
  
  
  
Fierra files out, corrals away Flint and the other kid. Her son looks at him once more before he leaves.  
  
Neste says a few more encouraging words, but they land empty. She soon follows.  
  
He doesn’t look up.  
  
Wojtek comes over to replace his bandages. Besides the bracing shock of the rough cloth against his sensitive skin, he hardly acknowledges it.  
  
Though he does ask the ursaring for a mirror.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
“Do you believe him?”  
  
Fierra walks silently beside her son, back up towards their home. Flint and Evelin chitter along behind them, but she’s too tired to tell them off.  
  
“That he’s as lost and confused as we are? Of course I do. There was no guile in those eyes.”  
  
The quilava stares at the ground.  
  
“Victim of some otherworldly trick,” she says with some contempt. Vidri looks up at her. “I swear, the corruption hurts more of us every single day.”  
  
“Come on, mom. The corruption can’t have teleported him into the sky. What could that possibly have to do with Arc?”  
  
She narrows her eyes, but sighs. “I don’t know Vidri. Something tells me.”  
  
They continue in silence. “That poor pikachu…” she trails off. “First his tail, and now this.”  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
What a sight to behold.  
  
A small handheld mirror, made of polished metal. It casts everything it reflects with a steel-like tint. He grips the edge with that little hand.  
  
And within that mirror,  
a pikachu. A real-life pikachu.  
  
He’d be amazed if he weren’t horrified.  
  
And it’s really him, too. There’s the scar on his right chin from when he wiped out at the skatepark that one spring break years ago. His eyes, though darker overall, have the same ring of lighter color in the middle. He can’t see his old ear piercing, but maybe it’s just hidden under the fur.  
  
A chill goes up his spine. _Fur._  
  
Tape holds a piece of gauze to his right cheek; he hadn’t even noticed with everything else. His left cheek is more of a coral than crimson, but it’s the same round red patch all pikachu have. He pokes it with his free hand, half-expecting to get shocked, but nothing happens.  
  
A pikachu face.  
  
A damn pikachu face.  
  
With tracks of wetness left on its nose.  
  
  
  
The sun dips out of the window, casting him in dusky shadow and the rest of the room in golden-orange light.  
  
He stares at himself the whole time.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Something in his brain breaks.  
  
The mirror is on the floor, clanging and resonating.  
His bandana is tied around his mouth and nose. He doesn’t even remember putting it on.  
The blanket is on the floor, muffling the clanging.  
  
And then,  
he’s on the floor.  
  
A huge spike of pain impales him. His back arches, he tries to curl into a ball, but his legs remain splayed out awkwardly.  
  
He tried to get out of bed. He fell out.   
  
He still can’t feel his legs.  
  
The pain. Oh, the pain.  
  
A feral scream rips out of his mouth, as if the pain itself is a monster trying to escape.  
  
Tears trickle across his nose, drip onto the floor.  
  
  
  
_**Why…**_  
  
_**Why did this happen to me…**_  
  
  
  
The door suddenly bangs open.  
  
“Pika— _Arc!”_  
  
A pair of brawny, scratchy arms lift him as if he were a pillow.  
  
“Arc you can’t just—“  
  
Sets him on the bed. It might as well be a bed of spikes.  
  
“Where is that sitrus, please tell me I still have one—“  
  
He can’t take any more. His back hurts. His chest hurts. His _soul_ hurts.  
  
  
  
He falls unconscious.


	10. Chapter 10

“I am sorry.”  
  
  
  
…?  
  
Sorry for what?  
  
  
  
“It wasn’t meant to happen this way.”  
  
  
  
…Was something meant to happen?  
  
  
  
Hesitation.  
  
  
  
“I…I should not help you.”  
  
  
  
Please…  
  
Please help me…  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Soon.”  
  
  
  
“Soon.”


	11. Chapter 11

Vidri turns. And tosses. He can’t sleep.  
  
Eventually, he slips out of his hammock, careful not to wake his sister sleeping nearby, and walks outside, groggy.  
  
  
  
_~ sqwinsh gloosh gwaash ~_  
  
He drinks from the water gushing out of the well, grateful. His mother installed the pump a few months ago, and it instantly made life so much better. No more hauling water up from the lake every few hours. And it tastes cool and clear, much better than vaguely stagnant lake water.  
  
It’s an odd looking thing, though. Kind of like a gyarados bending over, water gushing out of its mouth, the handle one of its fins.  
  
She found the drawings in the top of the old house. Built the pump from the specifications, she said. Fierra is never one to lie, but somehow he found this difficult to believe. Sure there’s papers all over up there, but he can’t make head or tail of them.  
  
  
  
Vidri stretches with a groan. The water had the opposite effect from what he wanted: he’s wide awake.  
  
He gazes up at the stars. Just as entrancing as ever. Especially up here in the mountains. Though he’s heard travelers pass through town and say that the beaches in the northern country were beautiful too, the sunsets being magnificent.  
  
He’d like to see them someday… Maybe he could open a shop up north.  
  
  
  
His thoughts turn to shooting stars.  
  
And Arc.  
  
He shakes his head. Surely the strangest pikachu he’s ever met. He certainly doesn’t believe him, even if Fierra and Wojtek and Neste and Flint do. Regardless of whether he was lying, there sure was a lot he was holding back.  
  
He sighs.  
  
But none of that changes the fact that he’s here, in Pinewood Town. That all evidence points to him falling out of the sky, like a shooting star. The greatest mystery Pinewood’s ever seen.  
  
And he’s gravely injured.  
  
The quilava shudders. He can’t imagine what that must be like. Being unable to walk, to move his legs at all. Horrible.  
  
  
  
His ear flicks. What was that?  
  
A faint noise, coming up the hill.  
  
Curious, sleep fully out of his mind, he dashes down towards the rest of town.  
  
It sounds like…whimpering?  
  
  
  
  
  
Vidri creeps quietly through the grassy town square. No sense in waking someone up and getting chewed out again. Even if he’s more than old enough to be out at night; he’s practically an adult. The large ceramic buildings circling the square stand like sentinels.  
  
Pinewood Town is fairly sparse, more of an outpost than an actual town. Still, enough families have put down roots over the years to grow the place almost double since Fierra settled here. In fact, log cabins now outnumber the original ceramics, drifting out from the center lawn like ripples on the lake.  
  
The noise is quieter here. Perhaps back the way he came?  
  
  
  
Vidri retraces his steps, staying in town rather than going back up the hill towards his mother’s place. The noise leads him nearly all the way to the main road, when he realizes where he’s at.  
  
In front of Wojtek’s house.  
  
And the infirmary.  
  
_…Arc?_  
  
He sneaks around to the side of the cabin, peeks through a window.  
  
The interior is dark, but he can make out the bed, and a dark shape on top—  
  
_~ ZSAK! ~_  
  
He nearly falls off the windowsill, blinking against the bright flash. _What was that??_ He looks back inside, though it takes a second for the bright afterimage in the center of his vision to disappear. There’s the bed, there’s Arc, tossing and turning (or trying to), and—  
  
Another spark!  
  
His cheeks are sparking.  
  
Immediately he jumps through the window and rushes to the bed. There’s a reason he and his mother and sister live in one of the old buildings.  
  
“Arc!” he hisses, shaking his side. “Wake up! You’re gonna spark the roof!”  
  
The pikachu’s face is scrunched up. He’s clearly not sleeping well.  
  
_“Arc!!”_  
  
Another flash, big enough to blind him again. He jumps back, shakes his head to remove the stars. Runs over to the basin table and grabs a dry towel. Wrapping his paw he goes back and shakes him some more. “Wake _up_ Arc!!”  
  
“Laaagh…?”  
  
The pikachu sits up, eyes wide, mouth slack.  
  
_Oh, thank the original ones._ He breathes a deep sigh and tosses the towel back. He’ll chew Wojtek out tomorrow. Doesn’t matter he’s a heavy sleeper; this is why he lives next to the sick house.  
  
Arc is still staring into the distance.  
  
Vidri tilts his head at him. “Arc? Are you alright?”  
  
“…soon?”  
  
He frowns. “Soon? What do you mean?”  
  
Slowly Arc turns to look at him. It takes a moment for the image to register, for his mouth to close. But then it does, and it’s not what Vidri expects.  
  
“Aww, _shit.”_ And the pikachu turns and buries his head into the pillow.  
  
  
  
_…‘shit?’_ He shakes Arc’s shoulder again. “Arc, I need to know that you’re not going to start a fire. Can you control yourself?”  
  
“Get outta here. Leave me alone.”  
  
Vidri can feel his patches heat up. “Arc, are you listening to me? You’re in a _thatched roof cabin,_ you can’t be sparking like that—“  
  
“I said LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMMIT!”  
  
The pikachu is sitting up, staring him in the face, anger and turmoil churning in his eyes.  
  
“At least in my _dreams_ I’m not a frickin’ _paraplegic!_ Why the hell did you wake me up??”  
  
Vidri flinches, but doesn’t stand down. “Because you were about to _blow this place up!!”_ he returns with just as much force.  
  
If Wojtek sleeps through this, he should be relieved of his job.  
  
The outburst shuts Arc up, though his eyes still smolder. Vidri continues. Seems only yelling gets through his thick skull.  
  
“You were sparking, and _big_ ones! Look, I am sorry for what happened to you, but if you don’t control yourself then—“  
  
“Alright alright, I’m sorry,” Arc says. “You don’t have to yell.” He rubs his face with his paws.  
  
Vidri’s pent up heat defuses with a hot sigh. _This rockin’ pikachu is something else._  
  
Arc pauses. “Wait. Stop…what? Sparking?”  
  
Vidri pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. That’s what I said.”  
  
“I…can do that?”  
  
  
  
Vidri looks at the pikachu again.  
  
Arc looks absolutely serious. A bit incredulous, even.  
  
Vidri feels like he’s talking to a hatchling. _What is happening right now?_ “Yes. You’re a pikachu. You can ‘do that.’ All electric ‘mon can do that.”  
  
“I don’t know how to do that.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Spark.”  
  
  
  
Now it’s Vidri’s turn to look incredulous. Can this pikachu get any weirder? It’s just one whopper of a magikarp after another.  
  
“You’re lying. You’re telling me that you’re…I’m guessing close to twenty—“  
  
“Twenty-six,” Arc corrects him.  
  
He shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. You’re twenty-six, and _you don’t even know how to control your electricity?”_  
  
The pikachu glares at him. Then falls back on his pillow and kneads his face again. “I hate this. I hate every minute of this. I don’t know what I did to deserve this karma, but whoever you are up there, _up yours.”_  
  
“Stop changing the subject, Arc.”  
  
Arc pushes himself right back up. “Do you wanna know why? Do you wanna have your little head blown clean off by the _sheer existential terror_ of whatever screwy nightmare this is?”  
  
Vidri sees Arc’s eyes again. Again completely serious.  
  
_Could he…?_  
  
“I’m a human. A _human._ I come from a completely different plane of existence from y’all ‘pocket monsters,’ where you’re just a figment of some japanese dude’s imagination, stuck inside a fun little game you play to get out and see nature. Humans don’t spark. Humans don’t breathe fire. And where I come from, dogs and cats and weasels and bears don’t spark OR TALK.”  
  
  
  
Nope. He’s officially crazy.  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
Arc stares at him. He looks…broken.  
  
He then turns around, grabs his pillow, and screams into it.  
  
  
  
He screams for a good long while. Even punches himself through it a couple times.  
  
Vidri stands there. A small part of him…is a bit concerned. Mainly though, he rolls his eyes. Maybe the venting will clear his head? Wojtek is asleep as the grave, so whatever.  
  
  
  
Eventually Arc stops. He doesn’t remove the pillow from his face.  
  
Vidri exhales. “Alright. Glad you’ve calmed down. Now.  
“Even if I were to believe you, Arc, the things you say are crazy. Surely you must see that. I mean, hue-mon? Never heard of such pokémon.”  
  
“We’re _not_ pokémon,” he hears the pillow mutter.  
  
Vidri raises his snout with a sniff. “Fine. Whatever. What element are you then?”  
  
The pillow gives an exasperated sigh. “You mean type? We’re _no_ type. We’re weaklings. No powers, no fire breathing, no electro-shocking, nothing.”  
  
  
  
Vidri doesn’t respond.  
  
Eventually the pillow-headed pikachu slumps back down. He hears him murmur, “You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything. You didn’t hear any of this. Now let me die in peace.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“And no, I won’t spark. I’ll suffocate myself with this pillow first.”  
  
Vidri eyes him. “You sure about that?”  
  
Just a mumble.  
  
Vidri sighs again. Probably the best he’s going to get.  
  
He makes his way back to the window. As he turns to wish Arc good night, he hears,  
  
“And here I thought you might help me.”  
  
His cheeks burn as he turns away and slips off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of basing Pinewood Town on my fuzzy childhood memories of Jackson, Wyoming, USA. In particular the grassy town square with the big antler arch. Maybe you've been there! The Tetons are _gorgeous._
> 
> Also, in case you're interested, I recently posted a [oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592383) you might enjoy.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

Arc awakes to bustling sounds around him.  
  
For a moment, with a pillow over his eyes, he thinks he’s back home.  
That he’s sleeping on the couch, that his sister is making breakfast.  
  
He tries to roll over and look at her.  
  
He can’t. His torso does, but his legs stay put.  
  
_Oh._  
  
He groans and rubs his eyes, his pillow falling off onto the floor. Cabin. Bright and airy. Fuzzy cheeks and yellow hands.  
  
_Right._  
  
  
  
“Ah! Good morning Arc. How do you feel?”  
  
With some effort he props himself on his elbows, looks through bleary eyes. The sun casts a warm, clean light over the room.  
  
It’s that bear guy again. Urs…ula?  
  
“Morn’” he mumbles, rubbing his eye again. His mouth feels like a dry cotton ball. “…could I have some water?”  
  
The bear nods and fills a bowl from the basin. Hands it to him.  
  
  
  
He drinks slowly.  
  
_Bleh._  
  
His morning thoughts stew caustically.  
  
The bear watches him. The tips of his ears warm up, but he tries to ignore him.  
  
  
  
“…I hate having to ask for everything.”  
  
The bear sighs. “I understand that Arc. Take it slow. I don’t mind helping you at all.”  
  
He slurps from the bowl and grunts. _Well that’s a relief._  
  
  
  
The bear has sat on the foot of the bed.  
  
He stares at the rim of the bowl. Wooden. “…What was your name again?”  
  
The bear inclines his head. “Wojtek.”  
  
Another slurp. “Woj…tek? Sounds eastern european. Where do you come from?”  
  
Wojtek tilts his head in confusion. “Yuro-peean? What’s that?”  
  
His ears get hotter. “…Never mind.”  
  
  
  
Finished with his bowl of water.  
  
Wojtek extends a claw for it. “Need any more?”  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
The bear nods, takes it, and steps away.  
  
  
  
His eyes fall to a patch of green, peeking out from the covers. His bandana.  
  
“…Where did you find this?”  
  
Wojtek turns around, sees him holding it aloft. “Your cloth? It was around your neck when we found you. I had to remove it to treat your burns.”  
  
“Was there anything else where you found me?”  
  
The bear shakes his head. “No. Just that. Why, is it a keepsake of yours?”  
  
  
  
He stares at it.  
  
Ironic. A pandemic face covering bought in a hurry from the dollar store.  
  
He grips it like a lifeline.  
  
“…it is now.”  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

He was never much of a morning person, but the sun feels nice against his back.  
  
  
  
Wojtek is arranging something on the basin table, seemingly satisfied with Arc’s condition.  
  
With practiced ease Arc ties the bandana around his neck again. Something about having it there comforts him, if only a little.  
  
He yawns widely. “You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee, would you?”  
  
The bear’s ear twitches. “No, but I can get some for you.”  
  
Arc perks up. He was being sarcastic; he didn’t expect them to actually have coffee in this pocket monster hellscape.  
  
“…Yeah. Actually…that’d be great. …Thank you.”  
  
The bear looks at him and smiles. “I’ll bring you a bit of breakfast too. Just sit tight, I’ll be back in a bit.” He finishes putting some gauze away and leaves.  
  
“Can’t do anything else,” Arc grumbles.  
  
  
  
Still, the anticipation of coffee brightens his mood more than he would have expected. He rearranges his pillow into a back rest.  
  
“Well,” he says to himself. “No time like the present. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”  
  
Arc proceeds to do a thorough checkup of himself.  
  
He stretches his arms as high up as he can. Despite the cutesy proportions, he finds that his body is a lot more reasonable than the cartoons or games made him believe. Case in point: he can raise his arms over his head. He’s not just a top-heavy stuffed animal.  
  
He grimaces at his complaining ribs, though surprisingly, they’re not as loud as yesterday.  
  
Rotates both shoulders, extends his arms every which way. Seems his upper limbs are just fine. Thank whoever for that.  
  
He tests out his neck, rolling it around. He can’t look up all the way, but he expects that; he had to have gotten at least some whiplash for meteoring straight into the ground. _Better be careful for the next few days._  
  
Jaw seems fine too.  
  
His left ear flicks by itself. It makes him shiver. He can’t seem to control either ear; they turn and swivel with his attention, like robotic satellite dishes. _Just ignore it._ He reaches up to feel around and…yep. There’s the piercing.  
  
Twists his torso. Again, more rib complaints, but nothing else. All in all, everything feels pretty fit.  
  
Everything…above the waist.  
  
He grits his teeth. _Not yet. Focus._  
  
He pokes his right chest, feeling for the sensitive parts under the bandages. They feel…a lot less sensitive. He absentmindedly brushes the gauze on his right cheek, and feels no pain whatsoever. His eyes widen. Without thinking he rips off the tape and gauze. “Yaach!!”   
  
But yeah. His cheek feels just the same as his left. A bit too chubby for his tastes, but no sensitivity or pain.  
  
_Geez, do pikachu heal really quickly or something?_ He’d have to ask Wojtek.  
  
  
  
He stares at the frumpled blanket for some time.  
  
  
  
He swallows. He doesn’t want to, but he should.  
  
He pulls back the covers to take a look.  
  
Really, based on the pictures of Pikachu he remembers, his legs look absolutely normal. The backward bend _(is that…my ankle?)_ is a bit unnerving, but nothing looks _wrong._ Maybe a bit longer than he’d expect, but they’re typical rodent-y legs.  
  
The normalness taunts him.  
  
He hesitates, then tries to pick one up. It’s limp, like a pant leg filled with sand. His skin crawls and he almost drops it, but he manages to hold on and feel above and under. No breakages or abnormalities under the skin.  
  
A part of his brain comments how weird it is to feel paws where there should be toes. Another comments how the whole thing feels like furry rubber.  
  
_I hate this I hate this I hate this._ He grits his teeth again as he grabs his right leg and heaves it towards his left. With the grace of a dying goose, he manages to flop and roll over onto his side. He then cranes his neck to peer down his back.  
  
Barely in the corner of his eye he spies two brown stripes of fur. _Huh. I thought pikachus were all yellow._  
  
And between the stripes, an odd hump, the skin purplish underneath the hair.   
  
  
  
  
  
His heart leaps in his chest. There it is.  
  
He can’t look away.  
  
Just one bump. One injury.  
  
That changed everything.  
  
  
  
  
  
The discomfort twisting like this eventually jolts him. He shakes his head. _Stop. Just…finish looking._  
  
He peers further down, expecting to see a stump where his tail would have been.  
  
But no. Nothing. Just a furry pikachu butt.  
  
_Did…whatever eldritch insanity that turned me into a stinkin’ electric rodent **seriously** forget to give me a tail?!_  
  
  
  
A number of choice obscenities float through the infirmary window.  
  
Satisfied, if furious, Arc heaves his legs back into the least awkward position, and covers himself back up. His bum is getting pokey, like he’s been sitting in a car too long. He bites back another curse.  
  
  
  
Now for the _real_ checkup. His electricity. He rubs his cheeks with anticipation.  
  
He can’t deny that from the moment he realized he turned into a pikachu, his heart thrilled at the chance to shoot lightning bolts and zap people.  
  
Apparently he _can_ do it. He was sparking last night. At least according to a certain snot-nosed weasel.  
  
But how to trigger it himself?  
  
He puffs up his cheeks. Nope.  
He pokes them with his forefingers. Nope.  
He pokes them from the inside with his tongue. Nope.  
He slaps them with his palms. Ouch. But nope.  
He rubs them with the blanket until his scalp tingles with static electricity. Nope.  
He strains his head, _willing_ the lightning to spring out of him. Nope.  
He points at the chair, trying to smite it. Nope.  
He swings his arm as if throwing a lightning bolt Zeus-style. Nope.  
“Lightninggggggg-a-gogo!!” Nope.  
He thrusts his wrists out like Spider-man. Nope.  
  
  
  
He takes a deep breath.  
  
Looks within himself.  
  
…Sees the turmoil churning within.  
  
He grimaces. Not much he can do about that.  
  
He ignores the turmoil. Imagines a beach in Florida. Cool iced tea, palm trees, soothing waves.  
  
He feels some of the tension seep out his shoulders.  
  
And then, slowly,  
he opens his eyes.  
And thinks a single word.  
  
_Thundershock._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Nothing happens.  
  
  
  
More expletives fly out the window.


	14. Chapter 14

“Pikachu Arc sir? May I come in?”  
  
He freezes. He doesn’t recognize this voice. Did they hear his curse-storm? His voice cracks as he calls, “Uh-o-of course. Come in.”  
  
The door swings open and he sees a small fox-like pokémon carefully walk in, balancing a tray of food on their head. It’s rather impressive, seeing as they both open and close the door and walk the tray to his bedside without even a clatter of dishes.  
  
_Wait._ He realizes he recognizes this pokémon too. They’re an eevee. They’ve even got the heart shape on their tail, meaning they’re female.  
  
With utmost concentration the eevee slowly tilts her head so the tray starts to slide off. “Oh let me help—“ Arc quickly reaches out to take the tray.  
  
The eevee steps back and shakes herself out. She then looks up at him with shining eyes. “Did you see, Arc sir? Did you see how well I carried that?”  
  
He’s confused. “Uh…yeah. You did that very well…?”  
  
The eevee beams.  
  
He tilts his head. “Wh…what is your name?”  
  
The eevee sits on her haunches and smiles proudly. “I’m Evelin! I’m the one that found you!”  
  
_That name sounds familiar…_  
  
Evelin continues. “Well, Flint was there too. But I got to you first.” She looks up at him again. “It was really scary, Arc sir. You looked like you hurt a lot. Are you feeling better?”  
  
_Oh yeah, the kangaskhan mentioned someone named Evelin. That loud kid’s friend…?_ Arc looks left and right. “And where’s…Wodgtek?”  
  
“Oh!” The eevee changes tacks like a whip. “One of the quarrymon got hurt, so he had to go help them. He asked me to bring this to you!” She jumps up to rest her paws on the side of the bed, peers at the tray, and up at him, and back at the tray, and back up at him.  
  
Several more questions pop up _(‘quarrymon?’),_ but he looks down at his breakfast. It’s fairly simple, actually. A scrambled egg, a slice of toasted bread, and some steamed greens, on a ceramic plate. And a cup of coffee in the corner.  
  
He immediately reaches for the coffee, tips it to his mouth. It’s lukewarm at best, and way too sweet, but it’s _coffee._  
  
He breathes a deep sigh. Never would he have thought a simple cup of coffee to be so delicious…and comforting.  
  
“Do you like coffee, Arc sir?”  
  
He opens one eye. Evelin is tilting her head at him. “…Yeah. I do.”  
  
She makes a face. “I don’t. It’s bitter and smelly and gross.”  
  
He closes his eye again and takes another drink. _Kids._  
  
The eevee slides back down to the floor and sits next to the bedside. “Pikachu Arc sir?”  
  
“Mmhmm?” He doesn’t stop drinking.  
  
“What does ‘bullshit’ mean?”  
  
He spits his coffee.  
  
  
  
Arc sets his cup down with a clank and waves his hands in a panic. “Where—where did you hear that. Did you hear that from me?”  
  
She looks a bit scared. “Y-yes. I heard you shouting when I came here.”  
  
_Crap crap crap I can’t be teaching kids cuss words_ He false chuckles. “Oh! Haha. It’s, uh, it’s a bad word.” He puts on a face of shame. “I shouldn’t have said it. It was really mad. Sorry you heard that, Eeveelin.”  
  
“It’s _Evelin,”_ she corrects him.  
  
He shakes his head and continues. “Sorry. Evelin. It’s not a nice word. Please don’t say it.”  
  
The eevee looks thoughtful, then uncertain. “You mean like…saying… _you fissure?”_ She squeaks and shoots glances all around the room, as if expecting to get caught.  
  
_What? Fissure? …What?_  
  
He shakes his head again. “Y-yeah. Like that. It’s not good to say. Promise me you won’t say it?”  
  
Evelin nods dutifully.  
  
He sighs. _This is why I don’t do kids._  
  
  
  
They sit in the quiet sunlight for a bit.  
  
  
  
“Why were you mad, Pikachu Arc sir?”  
  
He’s munching on the toast. “Huh?”  
  
The eevee frowns. “You shouldn’t eat with your mouth full.”  
  
He ignores this. “Hwhat?” he says, spraying a couple crumbs.  
  
Evelin repeats her question with a sniff. “Why did you say ‘bullshit?’”  
  
He coughs on his toast. _“hachk_ I- _khf_ I thought I told you not to say that—“  
  
She just sits there, haughty.  
  
Eyes watering he gulps down some coffee.  
  
_Little prissy—_  
  
  
  
Takes a breath.  
  
_What do I tell her?_  
  
_…She’s just a kid. Wouldn’t hurt to just tell the truth, would it?_  
  
He puts down his coffee cup and puts on a forlorn face. “I…I can’t remember how…” He looks at his hands, defeated. “…how to use my electricity.”  
  
_“What!!”_  
  
He jumps, nearly knocking his whole tray over.  
  
Evelin is right up next to him, front paws on the bed, eyes full of concern. “You mean you lost your powers???”  
  
He pushes her back down. “No, no, I don’t think so. …Wojtek said I was sparking last night in my sleep. But I don’t remember how to use them on purpose.”  
  
Evelin thinks really hard. He can’t help but smirk a little: the furrowed brow, the ears lowered, the paw raised to her chin, the squinting eyes. Eevees are criminally cute.  
  
“Maybe…” she starts. “Maybe when you hurt your back, you lost the ability to use your powers.”  
  
He coughs again. “I think it’s more likely I bumped my head and forgot.”  
  
Evelin’s eyes go wide. “Oh!! Maybe I could help you remember!”  
  
He opens his mouth, but pauses. _Actually, that would be…pretty cool?_ His ears droop though. “But you’re not electric-type. How could you help?”  
  
The eevee practically glows with pride. “I know an electric attack.”  
  
“You _what?”_  
  
_“Buzzy buzz!_ My auntie taught me! I can show you!” Evelin stands on all fours, raising her butt, ready to pounce.  
  
He rolls his eyes. Kids will do anything to impress.  
  
Evelin’s fur starts crackling. And _actually_ glowing.  
  
_Oh shit she’s serious_ “W-wait, Evelin, don’t do that indoo—“  
  
With a resounding _~ CRAK ~_ and a triumphant yelp the eevee leaps forward, robed in sparking energy.  
With a dull _~ THONK ~_ the eevee crumples on the ground, clutching her head and moaning in front of the doorframe.  
  
  
  
He facepalms.  
  
_**Kids.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last two chapters were fun to write.


	15. Chapter 15

_Easy… Wait for it…_  
  
His fingers slowly rotate the metal pipe, tense with anticipation.  
  
A drop of sweat drips off the tip of his nose.  
  
He watches the blob, glowing within the furnace, monitoring the color, marking time.  
  
_Okay… And…_  
  
  
  
In one smooth motion Vidri pulls and lifts the pipe, drawing the blob out of the burning hole.  
  
With practiced deftness he swings it over to a metal table and starts rolling it on the surface, back and forth, back and forth, until the blob flattens into a cylinder.  
He lifts it again and swings it to a pair of metal rails, laying the pipe across.  
He grabs a gourd out of the nearby basin of water and cups the cylinder, rolling it back and forth, until the cylinder molds into a rounded shape.  
  
Then back into the furnace.  
  
Twisting. Watching. Sweating.  
  
He exhales, and draws the form out. It’s the final stage.  
  
Choking up on the pipe, he quickly jumps up the stepladder, letting gravity pull down the shape.  
He lowers the pipe down and carefully blows into the hollow end, turning all the while, flaring the bottom.  
He grabs the neck of the pipe again, twisting it, hopping down and running to the metal rails.  
Rolls the pipe along the rails with the palm of his right, while tamping and smoothing the form with the tongs in his left.  
  
_Easy. Nice and easy._  
  
Back and forth.  
  
Back and forth.  
  
Back.  
And.  
Forth.  
  
He exhales.  
  
  
  
There, attached to the end of his pipe, is a glass vase. Flared at the bottom, fluted at the top. Shimmering with emerald and cyan, refracting the orange light of the furnace into aquatic fire.  
  
“Good. That was good Vidri.”  
  
He wipes his brow with the back of his paw.  
  
Fierra steps over to inspect his handiwork. After a moment she continues. “But you blew too much. See, the wall of the vase is too thin here. And because of it, it fell and lost its shape.”  
  
He looks. She’s right; along the waist it pulls down just a touch. He was so focused on flattening the bottom this time that he missed it during the final roll-out.  
  
Very few would notice. His mother is one of them.  
  
He wipes his brow again.  
  
She scratches her chin thoughtfully. “You know, maybe if we made some sort of container you could drop it into, so that the glass wouldn’t overexpand…”  
  
With a sigh he roughly spears the pipe, and the vase he just made, into the furnace and walks away.  
  
His mother scoffs behind him. “Vidri. _Vidri._ Come back here. It was _good._ We could have sold it.”  
  
“Not good enough.”  
  
  
  
He walks around the house to the pump and works the handle. With a gurgle, and a splutter, and a gush water shoots out. He sticks his head underneath to cool down.  
  
The late spring day is unseasonably warm, the sun piercingly bright. It shouldn’t bother him, being a fire elemental, but he wishes it could have stayed cooler a bit longer.  
  
He steps back and shakes his head, spraying water every which way, a splatter of drops slapping against the pebbly wall beside him. He pumps the handle some more and bends down for a drink. Steps back with a _~ fwah! ~_  
  
  
  
He surveys the old ceramic house. An odd looking thing, simultaneously organic and alien. Two eggs fused together, he always thought it looked like, one half buried in the ground and the other leaning up against it. Round holes peep out the sides as windows.  
  
A deep sea blue cloth flutters over the front door, the same color as his headband.  
  
A column of smoke rises above the egg-house, trailing from one of the two chimneys from the metal shop out back. Fierra had a corrugated sheet driven into the backside of the house as a roof, punctuated by the two chimneys. A metal pole and another sheet at the far end complete the open-air workshop.  
  
  
  
He unties his headband and wrings it out.  
  
Half the time he loses patience.  
  
Half the time he loses focus.  
  
Every time there’s some fatal flaw.  
  
And every time he comes up short, Fierra pulls him back to the forge.  
  
  
  
He’s almost twenty-one. He’s been her apprentice since he evolved, at sixteen.  
  
…When will it end?  
  
  
  
His mother’s voice clangs out from the shed.  
  
“Vidri! Bellows!”  
  
He sighs and ties his headband back on. “Coming mother.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're interested, this is a [great video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtxrtKd-Vao) (with annoying music) demonstrating glassblowing.


	16. Chapter 16

Vidri trudges back to the metalworking shop. He goes to retrieve his pipe, but he finds it on the metal rails, already cleaned, with the crucible extracted and the furnace vented. A wave of heat toasts his face.  
  
He sighs.  
  
“Y’think this is enough, Vidri?” Flint stands expectantly over a pile of coal, ready to be shoveled into the adjacent hearth.  
  
He shakes his head. There’s time for yearning later. Now’s work to be done.  
  
He quickly glances over the pile, then yells back over his shoulder, “How much today? A chestplate and two armplate?”  
  
He hears an affirmative grunt from the other side of the metal wall. And another voice. Seems their customer hasn’t yet gone back to town.  
  
Vidri turns back to his sister and murmurs, “D’you know who’s the client? Big? Small?”  
  
She just sticks out her tongue. “I don’t know what half the travelers who come through town are, and you expect me to know?”  
  
“Well you could at least check— ah never mind.” He mutters about his lazy sister as he lopes to the edge of the shed, peeking around the metal wall.  
  
  
  
Fierra is speaking with a small off-white pokémon, almost shining in the bright sunlight. He has to shade his eyes after the relative darkness of the shop.  
  
“…The townsmon said you were the best in the region.” Their voice is strangely unemotional.  
  
Fierra nods, with a chuckle. “There’s not many of us around, but it’s true. I have never had one of my plates break.”  
  
The white pokémon thinks for a moment, hand to their chin, lights on their hand flashing. It then nods. “I suppose the price is reflective of the quality. Very well. When will the armor be ready?”  
  
Vidri can see the satisfaction in his mother’s eyes, though he doubts the client would see it. “Probably not until tomorrow midday,” she says. “There’s lodging in town, it’s not expensive.”  
  
The white pokémon nods again. “I am aware. Thank you again.” They look away for a moment. “What times are these, that we must rely on iron and steel to protect us…” They turn and leave down the hill.  
  
After a moment Vidri steps around the wall to his mother. “What pokémon was that?”  
  
Fierra doesn’t turn to look at him. “An elygem. Psychic elemental. Wish they had bought a headplate; chest and arms won’t be enough.”  
  
He watches the retreating customer too. “You can’t save the world, mother.”  
  
She turns and walks back to the forge. “…No. But until the legends decide we’re worth saving, I sure as distortion won’t stop trying.”  
  
He sighs. If there’s one thing he knows about Fierra, it’s that she will.  
  
No matter how impossible that seemed.  
  
  
  
Vidri stands on the bellows, a gigantic accordion even bigger than him. Hops up and down a couple times, loosening up. He nods to his sister, who turns and nods to their mother.  
  
Fierra raises a hammer high above her head. Her lean muscles ripple underneath her metalworking apron. “Today we burn…”  
  
Vidri and Flint call in unison: “that tomorrow we live.”  
  
She strikes the hammer with a resounding _~ GAHNNNNNG ~._  
  
  
  
With that signal, Fierra and her brood surge into motion.  
  
Fierra breathes a ferocious _flamethrower_ over the hearth, instantly lighting the kindling. Her shoulders flicker with tongues of flame, dancing around the inflammable fabric of her apron. Flint dives for cover.  
  
Immediately Vidri jumps into the air. He twists, turns upside-down, and _quick attacks_ straight down, driving the air out of the bellows with a great _~ woooosh ~._ He grips the top of the accordion as it expands, his body weight slowing his ascent, pulling a steady current of air through the burning timber and coke. The furnace comes to life like an infernal pyroar.  
  
“Okay, now,” he grunts to his sister. Flint grabs an iron spade and shovels a load of coals into the fuel port underneath. Fierra extinguishes her fire and readies herself, grabbing her tongs and the first ingot.  
  
Just before the bellows reaches the top, Vidri leaps again, twists again, and drives again straight down into the bellows. Another powerful pull of air, and another roar of fire. And again, at the apex, leap, _quick attack,_ pull.  
  
Vidri is extremely good at what he does. His temperature control is half the reason Fierra’s metalworks are as fine as they are. Whether for melting or purging or forming, his ability is excellent.  
  
It’s also exhausting. And mind-numbing.  
  
He sets his jaw as he rides the bellows. Gonna be another long afternoon.


	17. Chapter 17

Arc is almost at wit’s end when Neste comes calling.  
  
  
  
He’s surprised how quickly Evelin recovers. One moment she was moaning about her goose-egg, and then right after she’s up on the foot of his bed, cajoling him.  
  
“Nono, put more _feeling_ into it, dumbass.”  
  
He shoots daggers at her. “You will _not_ call me a dumbass. Here I thought you were afraid of cussing.”  
  
The eevee giggles. “It sounds silly. For all I know it could be the most polite compliment I’ve given you.” She turns on the innocent lamb-doll eyes.  
  
He angrily chews on at least two more choice expletives.  
  
She settles down into a resting position, front legs crossed. “Now. Again.”  
  
Glares at her. “Again what?”  
  
“Do a _thundershock!_ Say the word if you need to. But picture the energy flowing through you. _Be_ the electricity. But this time, _with feeling.”_  
  
Memories of an overenthusiastic theatre teacher in a sweltering cabin bubble to the surface. He hated that summer camp.  
  
He clenches a fist under his pillow. “You’re a horrible teacher. What does any of that even mean.” But she just sniffs at him.   
  
Guess she’s not going to leave unless he humors her.  
  
He tries to tune out the exasperating eevee and the distracting memories and focus again. She talked about flowing water, lightning bolts, feeling power within your body…  
  
Like, what? He feels absolutely normal.  
  
Well. Besides _that._ Another stomach flip.  
  
Anyway, he doesn’t really feel any different than when he was a human. He’s surprised how natural his pikachu arms feel. He just feels like…himself.  
  
So where the hell is this mystical pokémon power?  
  
He visualizes and visualizes and holds his breath and balls his fists and screws his eyes shut until his veins almost pop out.  
  
_“THUNDERSHOCK!!”_  
  
  
  
He peeks his eyes.  
  
She stares at him.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
  
  
She leaps on his chest.  
  
“Ohmigoshpikachuarcsiryou’velostyourelectricpowers!!! Whaddarewegonnado???”  
  
Despite her size, the jump knocks the wind out of him, and it takes all his strength to push the obnoxious eevee off. Thankfully his ribs aren’t screaming (as much). Tears still squeeze out of his eyes.  
  
“…please…” he gasps, “…just….leave me…alone…”  
  
With the timing of an angel, someone knocks on the open door. “Arc? You shouldn’t be discharging right now. Are you alright?”  
  
The head of that kangaskhan leans in. _Thank every god ever._ He struggles to respond but all he can manage is a wheeze.  
  
“Kangaskhan Neste!” Evelin leaps off the bed and scurries to her side. “Pikachu Arc can’t use his electricity!!”  
  
“I—“ he manages to cough out. “can—“  
  
“Well, he can’t use it on purpose,” she says almost poutingly. “He said Wojtek saw him sparking in his sleep, but given his progress today, I’m not sure I even believe that.” She has just the airs of a disappointed tutor.  
  
Neste looks over to Arc with wide eyes. He shoots back several pointed looks of _please save me she’s driving me crazy_  
  
The kangaskhan sighs and looks down. “Evelin Evelin Evelin, Arc needs to rest. You’re making it difficult for him to heal.”  
  
Arc’s heart raises a notch as he falls into another fit of coughing. This overgrown kangaroo lizard is alright.  
  
The eevee freezes. Slowly her tail and ears droop. “I…am?”  
  
Neste nods solemnly. “Let’s apologize to Arc, and let him alone for a while, okay?”  
  
Evelin looks back at him with watery eyes. “I’m so sorry Pikachu Arc sir, I hope you get better soon!”  
  
He waves and finally manages to kickstart his lungs. “It’s— _kff_ fine. Thanks for bringing me _khf_ —breakfast.”  
  
Immediately Evelin beams again, and with a “you’re welcome!” she bounces out of the clinic.  
  
  
  
Arc falls back onto his bed. _Damn kids._  
  
Neste walks over and pulls the chair to his bedside. “My apologies for Evelin. She means well. It seems she’s taken a liking to you.”  
  
He moans.  
  
The kangaskhan smiles again. Somewhat of a sad smile. “How are you doing, Arc?”  
  
After a moment he climbs back to a sitting position. “I’m…doing alright.”   
  
Neste doesn’t move. Just continues smiling. And watching.  
  
He sets his jaw. “My ribs are doing better…better than I would expect. And surprisingly…” he feels his chest under the bandages. “I think my burns have already healed.”  
  
She gives a low, husky chuckle. “I’m not surprised. Pinewood rawsts are the best in the region.”  
  
He blinks at this. _Rawsts…?_ Neste continues. “And what was this about your electricity?”  
  
He waves a hand. No use in calling even more attention to himself. To…what he is. “I think I got a concussion or something; I’m struggling to, ah, tap into my energy. I can still spark and things, so I imagine I just need some time for that too.”  
  
Neste frowns. He can tell she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t say anything.  
  
“So I guess all I have left is…” He can’t help but look down.  
  
Neste sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry Arc. I don’t think they’re going to heal. Berries can only do so much.”  
  
  
  
At this point,  
  
all the tears are dried up. He just feels empty.  
  
Neste sighs again. “That’s why I wanted to speak with you. Until we can arrange a way for you to get home, you’ll be here, possibly for some time. Where do you live? Do you have family that we should contact?”  
  
_Does she…_  
  
No. She just thinks he’s come from another part of the pokémon world.  
  
His stomach churns. So what does he say? He knows nothing about this place. Where _would_ he live?  
  
“…No, I live alone.” _Doubt you can contact my family anyway; they’re a couple universes down._  
  
She tilts her head slightly, undeterred. “And where is that?”  
  
  
  
He demurs.   
  
He likes to think he’s an honest person. But it’s been one hail-mary white lie after another since he got here.  
  
He coughs a bit to hide his hesitation. “To the…north.”  
  
“Oh, in Tidal Shores then? That’s the only big settlement north of us.”  
  
He coughs again. “No no, I mean not quite. I live a day’s walk outside of town.” Another first down. Either he’s the world’s best lying quarterback, or sooner or later he’s going to get sacked.  
  
Neste leans back. “I see. We’re the last stop on the main road before the mountain pass and Tidal Shores. A fair number of travelers and caravans pass through here.” She smiles back at him. “I’m sure we can find someone who can take you.”  
  
He scoffs. “Yeah, who would want to carry around an invali—“  
  
  
  
He feels a claw on his shoulder.  
  
Surprised, he looks up.  
  
Neste is staring into the middle distance. A faint glimmer trickles at the corner of her eye.  
  
“Arc, I…” She chokes up a bit; he’s taken aback by the rough emotion. “Don’t…don’t say that. I can’t believe what you’ve already had to endure, and then all this…”  
  
  
  
His cheeks burn, but he says nothing.  
  
  
  
The kangaskhan manages to compose herself. “Let’s…cross that bridge when we get there.” She withdraws her arm to wipe an eye and smiles at him. “For now, focus on your recovery. Both physical and emotional.”  
  
He can’t help but nod.   
But in his mind he responds _not sure I’ll ever recover from this._  
  
Neste climbs to her feet. “I’ll start asking around, who might be able to put you up for as long as you need. Until then, and until your rib heals, we’ll keep you here with Wojtek.” She steps towards the door.  
  
  
  
“Neste?”  
  
She turns to look at him.  
  
  
  
A storm of emotions churns within him.  
  
Pleading.  
Wondering.  
Despairing.  
Suspecting.  
Searching.  
Hoping.  
  
Giving up.  
  
  
  
“…thank you.”  
  
  
  
She smiles with sad eyes and leaves.  
  
  
  
  
  


END OF PART 1 


	18. Chapter 18

  


### PART 2:

#### Sifting

  
  
  
  
The next few days pass without incident.  
  
Well, besides the time Flint scorched Arc’s nose with a fireball in her excitement trying to recount when she and Evelin wrestled a bask-you-lin into submission or something. Neither of them were allowed to visit after that. At least until his rib heals.  
  
That said, Arc actually had a couple other people (‘people-mon?’) visit from the town. To introduce themselves and welcome him and all that. Neither a species he recognized. Both very clearly just wanting to gawk at the ‘pikachu that fell from the sky.’ All extremely awkward.  
  
Not much else happened.  
  
  
  
Turns out, sick bed isolation in the land of pokémon is even worse than quarantine.  
  
Wojtek apparently spends most of his time treating injuries here and there, or helping out in the fields or quarry. (Apparently there’s a quarry.) Either that or sleeping. But he’s a bear; comes with the territory.  
  
Which leaves Arc alone in the cabin. For hours.  
  
  
  
And hours.  
  
  
  
He could kill for a smartphone.


	19. Chapter 19

A congregation.  
  
  
  
Why had it taken so long?  
  
  
  
They discuss.  
  
Argue.  
  
Nearly fight.  
  
  
  
No progress.  
  
  
  
One stands among them, apart.  
  
Silent.  
  
Enduring.  
  
Frustrated.  
  
…Impotent.  
  
  
  
They cannot restrain themself longer. They interrupt.  
  
“—But if we were to combine our strength, concentrate on a single area, surely we could push it baaaaAAAAAA”AAAAAAAAA  
AAAARRR  
R  
RRR  
RRRRRR _RRREEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKK ~_  
  
Arc jolts awake.  
  
 _What the hell was that._  
  
It’s pitch black in his cabin. Thick clouds block out all light from the moon and stars. The wind is howling. But that’s not what woke him up.  
  
 _~ SHHHHHHHHRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEKKKKKK ~_  
  
 _What the **hell is that.**_  
  
It’s like someone held a microphone next to a knife scraping a chalkboard and then miked the feedback from a speaker. Jagged icicles vibrate his spine.  
  
And then, fainter, carried on the wind: shouts.  
  
Frantically he twists and turns, heaves his dead legs around, scrabbles against the back of the bed. Trying and failing to get himself up to the window behind him.  
  
A scream.  
  
“Shit! Damn this stupid-ass body!! _What is going on!?”_  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Vidri is already awake. The room flickers as his head patch ignites.  
  
“Vidri! Warn Neste! Warn the town!”  
  
Fierra surges out of her room, dropping her satchel and rushing up the ladder to the loft. Flint groggily mutters “whass happnin?”  
  
Vidri slips out of his hammock and scoops his sister out of hers, carrying her to the back. “It’s a corrupted. Or several. Flint, lock yourself in mom’s room and bar the window. Don’t let anyone in until we return.”  
  
All sleep melts from her eyes. Replaced by fear, yes, but also determination. She nods firmly.  
  
He runs back just as Fierra drops down her bag of armor with a _~ blonglong ~._ She climbs back down with a metal spike in her teeth. “Vrrdri wht rr u drring?” She spits the spike onto the floor. “Go! _Now!!”_  
  
He ties his metal pipe to his back. “I was getting Flint—“ he bites back a curse and rushes out the front door.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Lessa runs.  
Lessa runs for her life.  
Her footpaws are torn.  
She can hear her father behind her, barely over the moaning wind.  
His labored breathing.  
He can’t keep up. Not like this.  
But she daren’t turn back.  
Pinewood is close. She can see dark squares and lighter blobs just up the hill.  
She turns back.  
Her father is cradling his stomach.  
And the drapion is just ten paces away.  
The breath lodges in her throat.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
The night is oppressive, like a thick blanket threatening to smother them. Vidri weaves past the first log cabins, angling towards the ceramics and lawn at the center of town. His eyes are wide and sharp, alert for any movement. Surely everyone must have heard the screams? Surely Neste is already gathering the town?  
  
A flash, an orange blaze, out the corner of his eye. Towards the main road. Not the town square, where they’d usually light the defensive fires.  
  
 _It’s there._  
Without thinking Vidri bolts to the right.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Lessa breathes a plume of fire, igniting the dark night like a distress signal.  
The drapion rears back with a _~ SHEEEHHHKEKEKEKK ~,_ allowing her father to roll away and stagger to his feet.  
His bag lies on the grass, strap torn.  
There’s blood on the monster’s stinger.  
Fear, desperation, horror, fury erupts within her. The raw emotion focuses like a beam of light in the prism of her adrenaline. Her paw raises and a supernatural beam shoots out of her palm, brilliant in the pitch night. It strikes the drapion in the forehead.  
And dissipates immediately.  
“L-Lessa! Get out of here!” She can feel her father grip her shoulder through her cloak, pull her back.  
She can’t move.  
Her eyes are wide.  
  
They’re going to die.  
  
 _~ BANNGNGNGN ~_  
  
Sparks shimmer in the air. The drapion’s head whips to the side. A dark form flies past.  
The drapion howls and stumbles, off balance.  
Lessa falls back against the side of the hill.  
A paw grabbing her arm. “Move! Get going! I’ll distract it!”  
Her head turns. A quilava. Eyes bright with resolve. Gripping a metal pipe.  
“GO!” He roughly shoves her towards the town.  
She turns, climbs to her feet, picks up her legs, runs upwards. She can see light and smoke blaze above the rooftops.  
She doesn’t hear her father behind her.  
She turns back.  
The quilava springs around the slashing claws of the drapion, no less nimble for carrying the pipe. He whips it upward, another flash of sparks as it grazes a tusk. The drapion screams.  
Its eyes are black as the night.  
Her father is there. Halfway between her and the drapion. Crouching. Moving his hands.  
  
Casting.  
  
 _No… Father not now…_  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Vidri pounces around another swipe and leaps onto the corrupted’s back, aims a _bite_ at its tail. The hard exoskeleton skitters against his teeth; he can’t find purchase.  
“YAGH” The stinger grazes his shoulder.  
He falls off the drapion, rolls down the hill, pipe banging against him, lies there cringing in pain. Already he can feel burning traveling down his arm, across his chest. Poisoned.  
He cranes his neck up. The braixen is still there. He can see the warding fires rising above the town behind her. Why isn’t she going to safety?  
Wait. Where’s the delphox?  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Lessa watches in horror.  
  
Her father completes his rune, a glowing symbol floating in the night.  
  
 _“Unu-striko.”_  
  
Even though he says it with the softest voice, even though the word trembles with exertion, even though the wind yowls like an exploud, she can hear it as a call on a clear day.  
  
A brilliant flash of crimson light erupts from the rune. She reflexively shields her eyes.  
  
 _Not that. **Not that.** Father what are you—_  
  
The light vanishes as quickly as it appeared. She lowers her arm.  
  
The drapion is still standing.  
  
And her father is there.  
  
With its claw protruding from his back.


	20. Chapter 20

Vidri sees the delphox sag over, clutching the arm of the monster that impaled him.  
A shriek fills the air. Mournful, hateful, terrified. It’s coming from the braixen.  
He tries to lift himself, but a wave of nausea knocks him down. Do corrupted have stronger poison?  
His claws scrape against his blowpipe.  
_Mother where are—_  
  
A brilliant flame illuminates the hillside, an ardent heat rushes over the grass.  
  
_~ SSSSAAAKKHSHEHKKK ~_  
  
The drapion wrenches its claw back,  
the delphox slumps to the ground,  
the corrupted scuttles away from the _flamethrower._  
  
It’s not fast enough,  
a _~ shrrranng ~_ rips into its side,  
it screeches in pain and brings a claw crashing down,  
glances off of metal plate with a _~ burng ~._  
  
Metal plate.  
  
He relaxes.  
  
She made it.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Lessa can barely see.  
  
Her vision is blurry, as if watching through a rain-battered windowpane.  
  
She’s vaguely aware of a typhosion, strangely dark and hulking, wrestling with the drapion’s stinger as they stab it again.  
  
Strangely, she can’t hear either.  
  
All she can see is the heap that was once her father.  
  
_No._  
  
_**No.**_  
  
_**Don’t leave me.**_  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Vidri lays still. His head turned away.  
  
More screeches. More fire. More _~ bongs ~_ of claw and tusk against metal. More sickly stabs.  
  
He hates to watch his mother work.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
The drapion lies dead.  
Fierra rips off her headplate, runs up to the braixen, kneeling dumbly on the hill. She’s clearly in shock.  
“Are there any more corrupted?”  
The braixen doesn’t respond.  
She hates doing this, but for everyone’s safety, she must. She slaps her across the cheek. “Please answer me. This is vital. Are there any more out there?”  
The braixen looks dazed. But she shakes her head no.  
“Are there any more travelers with you?”  
Another stunned shake. No.  
Fierra sets down her spike and slides down to the delphox’s side. The wound is grievous. Checks for a pulse. It’s there, but struggling.  
She hurries up the opposite hill to her satchel, yelling back to the braixen. “Go to town, find the bonfires, find the ursaring there and bring him.”  
She doesn’t move.  
Fierra pauses for just a moment. A bit of emotion creeps into the typhlosion’s normally hard voice. “Hurry. Please. He’s alive, but barely.”  
The word ‘alive’ seems to register. The braixen gasps, and then dashes up towards town with the speed of two.  
Fierra sighs. There’s little chance, but they must try.  
  
She hears something.  
  
“Hey…mom…”  
  
Motherly instinct kicks in. She zeroes directly on the still form of her son, Vidri, lying just beyond the corrupted’s body.  
He’s raising an arm, weakly.  
“VIDRI!” She leaps over the body, ducks to his side. “You impulsive—you’ve gotten yourself poisoned— _corruption_ poison—and with no armor—what were you _thinking—”_  
She digs furiously in her satchel, grateful she keeps it fully stocked. Pulls out three plump pechas. Crushes them like bubbles, allowing the juice to pour into her son’s mouth.  
After drinking all three berries’ worth, he coughs, sitting up. Though it’s hard to see in the night, she can see some color return to his face.  
  
He hugs her. Through her armor.  
  
“Thank you mom.”  
  
She struggles to push aside her anger and her worry, but hugs him back. Briefly; she needs to tend to the delphox.  
She lifts him to his feet. “Come, you need more than pechas. Once the braixen returns with Wojtek I’ll take you to Yerba.” She walks him towards the delphox, already searching in her bag with her free hand for a sitrus or an oran.  
His pipe drags behind him. Even while poisoned, his grip is iron-tight.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Arc slams his fist against the headboard.  
  
His pillow lies on the floor, next to half his blanket and his crumpled bandana.  
  
He can tell things are quieting down. No more infernal shrieks, no more yelling, no more sounds of metal. He can hear the roaring of a fire; the light flickers against the side wall, coming through the opposite window. Is he in danger? But no one has come to retrieve him. And there’s no yelling, so it must be controlled?  
  
He slumps back down, forehead pressing against the wood.  
  
The pit in his stomach threatens to swallow him whole.  
  
  
  
He’s never felt more powerless in his life.  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

It’s impossible to sleep for the rest of the night.  
  
  
  
Arc hears Neste outside directing a search party. Apparently there were more of them out there. She tells them to…look for their bodies. Flickering of torches trickles through his windows.  
  
She also mentions in a lower voice to also bring back any corrupted. _‘Corrupted’?_  
  
The group tromps off immediately, and he hears Neste enter Wojtek’s house again.  
  
  
  
Earlier he heard a group bustle past his front door. Snippets of conversation hurried and hushed, ‘injury’ and ‘out of nowhere’ and ‘critical’.  
  
Accompanied by someone weeping.  
  
He called out, trying to get their attention, just to find out what was going on. But no one responded. Until Wojtek briefly poked his head in, but was obviously flustered, and said something about a dell-fox and a breaks-in and travelers and an attack, and then left.  
  
  
  
Left him alone.  
  
Haunted by an imagination that could be better or much worse than reality.  
  
  
  
He can’t get his pillow off the floor, so he awkwardly tries to curl onto a corner of the blanket.  
  
A shriek. From next door. Keening.  
  
He screws his eyes shut.  
  
Wojtek and Neste both murmuring something, it’s hard to hear across the airgap and through the wind. In vaguely consoling voices.  
  
  
  
He understands that something terrible is going on.  
  
That it’s probably all hands on deck.  
  
But what about those who can’t get on deck?  
  
Why would they leave him here?  
  
Alone?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The wailing dredges up a memory, long forgotten.  
  
Lying in his bed, eyes open in the dark.  
  
His sister, snoozing peacefully in the bunk above.  
  
Glow-in-the-dark stars innocently watching from the ceiling.  
  
Sounds from a caretaker in the room next to his. Breathing, exertion.  
  
Sounds of…desperation. Of panic. His father choking back tears. His mother on the phone, frantic.  
  
His grandmother…unresponsive.  
  
  
  
  
  
He curls even tighter, a sodden sock clogging his throat.


	22. Chapter 22

Vidri stares off into the distance, trying his best to ignore the vine inserted into his arm.  
  
Flickering by candlelight, Victreebel Yerba grabs an herb and another berry and throws them into their open mouth, humming all the while.  
  
The cloud of scents and perfumes that fill their shop gives him a headache. The fact it’s housed inside a ceramic building, and therefore has no cracks or crevices to air out with, makes it worse. Clumps of plant matter and dried berries hang in loose nets from the ceiling.  
  
He can feel something flowing through the injection point. He grimaces, but says nothing.  
  
Yerba continues to hum.  
  
How a poison elemental like Yerba can concoct a powerful antidote within themself without adversely affecting themself is beyond him. Though, he supposes, it makes some sense; need to know venom to know antivenin.  
  
  
  
“Alright, look at me.”  
  
He turns to stare into the victreebel’s beady eyes. They flit back and forth, inspect his face as well.  
  
“Face no longer flushed, pupils contracted, pulse normal…all set.”  
  
They retract the sharp vine while placing gauze with the other, swiftly winding a length of bandage around the spot.  
  
He rubs it tenderly. “…Thank you Yerba.”  
  
The giant plant nods. “Tell your mother thank you. She’s the reason we’re all still alive. And more.”  
  
He sighs and gets up to leave. “I will.”


	23. Chapter 23

Lessa curls into a ball on blankets on the dirt floor.  
  
  
  
She refused to leave him. The ursaring and kangaskhan didn’t like it, but they acquiesced. The ursaring left to sleep somewhere else.  
  
  
  
Tears soak the cloth under her head.  
  
  
  
Memories of her father repeat themselves, over and over, both a torment and a comfort.  
  
  
  
Faces float before her. Her friends. Killian. Rift. Novel. Her family. All gone.  
  
  
  
Only strangers remain.  
  
  
  
And the secret.  
  
  
  
Part of her wishes it all to burn. The lessons. The books. The runes. All of it.  
  
  
  
But it’s all she has left of them.  
  
  
  
Of him.  
  
  
  
She curls even tighter around her father’s bag.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 100 hits in one week! I'm blown away. Very humbled and grateful that y'all find this story worth reading. Thank you 🙏🏼
> 
> In case you noticed, I recently went back and took a quick pass over the chapters thus far, tweaking word choice and whitespace and a few other things. No major story changes, so caught-up readers, you're fine.
> 
> Pues, basta con la platica. ¡Vámonos!

The next morning is almost as dark as the night before.  
  
Thick clouds, tinged with green, hang too low in the sky. The air sits stagnant.  
  
  
  
It’s too early.  
  
It feels too early.  
  
  
  
His dazed, sleep-deprived, terrified mind can barely process someone raising him to seated, holding him steady, feeling his chest, unwinding him, setting him back down.  
  
The pillow again.  
  
  
  
He wishes he could fall asleep.  
  
He couldn’t.  
  
He can’t.  
  
  
  
Arc slowly raises on one elbow, then another, and pulls himself up.  
Sits there.  
Kneads his face with fuzzy paws.  
Tries to get the crick out of his neck.  
  
Can’t quite do it.  
  
  
  
Notices the usual sounds of activity from the basin table in front of him.  
  
It’s Wojtek. Because of course it is.  
  
The dim light seems to have dampened the bear’s usual cheery morning mood. He has a whole basket of linens at his feet. A few strips peek out the side. He’s digging in a bin under the table for more.  
  
  
  
Dumbly he feels his torso. The bandages are gone.  
  
He stretches. The pain is gone.  
  
He’s healed.  
  
  
  
He moves his—  
  
  
  
Nope.  
  
  
  
There is no word in his language that can adequately describe how he feels.  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc notices the bear reach down to collect his load of linens.  
  
“Uh, Wojtek?”  
  
He turns to him, surprised, as if he completely forgot he was there.  
  
“I need to talk to Flint’s brother. It’s important. Can you tell him to come?”  
  
Wojtek blinks, his brain seemingly on hold. But he nods, gathers his bundle, and trundles out the door.  
  
  
  
He’s not about to ask the bear. Not after last night.


	25. Chapter 25

Arc is tired of thinking.  
  
Arc is tired of waiting.  
  
  
  
Arc is tired of everything.


	26. Chapter 26

Finally, his door creaks open, and in walks the weasel.  
  
  
  
The visitor only takes one step across the threshold. Looks around the room. Keeps shifting his weight. Clearly doesn’t want to be here.  
  
He’s got bandages on his shoulder.  
  
The weasel sighs and speaks up. “What do you need, Arc? I’m busy. They need me to help with the cleansing.”  
  
A small headache blossoms behind Arc’s brow. More stupid words he doesn’t know.  
  
He shakes his head. _Focus._ “…What was your name again?”  
  
The weasel’s ear flicks. “…Vidri.”  
  
Arc nods.  
  
  
  
Arc cuts right to the chase.   
  
“Vidri. What happened last night?” He points to the bandages. “What happened to you?”  
  
Vidri blinks. Then his shoulders sag. “Oh come on, Arc. It was a corrupted. Attacked a pair of travelers. I tried to help and got injured in the process. You’re telling me you didn’t hear it?”  
  
“Oh, I heard.”  
  
  
  
Vidri frowns. Another weight shift. “…What is this about, Arc?”  
  
“What is a corrupted, Vidri?” He puts an edge to his voice.  
  
The weasel’s brow furrows more. “What?”  
  
“I said, what is a corrupted, Vidri?”  
  
  
  
Vidri stares at him.   
  
Opens his mouth to speak.  
  
And then claps a paw across his eyes. “No.”  
  
The edge in Arc’s voice sharpens. “What do you _mean,_ no.”  
  
Vidri massages his face. “Arc…” Turns and walks back towards the door. “I’m not playing this game with you, Arc. I have somewhere I need to be. Things I need to do.” He reaches for the door handle. “We all had a rough night—“  
  
  
  
A cup explodes right next to his hand. A couple shards get stuck in his fur, a few bounce off his snout and ears.   
  
_“You’re not going anywhere you stuckup piece of **shit**.”_  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Vidri turns around.  
  
Arc is raised up as high as he can on the bed, reaching eye level. His ears point back like daggers. A second cup is in his hand, cocked back and ready to fire.  
  
His eyes burn like the flames on his mother’s hearth.  
  
  
  
_“You think I’m playing a **game**? You think that after I have been **ripped** out of my life, lost my friends, lost my **family** , stuffed into a **broken** , **mangled** body, and thrown into a world that not only shouldn’t exist, but is **actively out to kill us** , I’m here to play a **damn game?** ”_  
  
  
  
Vidri doesn’t respond. Doesn’t know how.  
  
  
  
_“You don’t get to say a **damn** thing to me. You don’t **get** to turn your back on me. **None** of you do. Not after last night, when the fires started, and monsters were screaming **bloody hell** , and **no one effing came** to tell me what’s going on, to make sure I was okay, because I am an **effing cripple** , and I had to lie here, **alone** , while somebody **died** next door.”_  
  
  
  
Tears are streaming down Arc’s face.  
  
  
  
_“I know nothing, Vidri. **Nothing**. There’s nothing in my damn past life that explains what **any** of this is. I’m losing my **damn mind**. And I can’t say this to **anybody** , because they’ll think I’m a damn **basket** case. You already do. And I don’t care. I don’t care what you **think** at all. I don’t need to prove **shit** to you.”_  
  
  
  
The cup hand is shaking.  
  
  
  
_“You’re the only one I can ask. And so you **will** answer me. **WHAT. IS. HAPPENING.** ”_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vidri stands there.  
  
And then sinks to the floor.  
  
  
  
Stammers,  
  
“…Y-You have five minutes. What do you want to know.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc doesn’t move besides his tears.  
  
  
  
The cup falls from his hand, bounces off the bed, and falls to the floor with a _~ krrsh ~._  
  
  
  
Arc slumps face-forward onto his covers.  
  
  
  
  
  
Muffled sobs seep from the blankets.  
  
  
  
  
  
After some time, Arc pushes himself back up. His eyes are red, his fur matted. He looks like distortion.  
  
He refuses to look at him.  
  
  
  
“What is a corrupted, Vidri.”  
  
  
  
“It’s a pokémon that’s been driven insane by the corruption.”  
  
“What is the corruption, Vidri.”  
  
“The corruption is a region to the north, east, and south of us. It spans several forests, much of the Spiky Mountains, and a desert.  
“It is land gone wrong. The laws of nature don’t seem to apply. We don’t know how it started, or why. We just know that it is spreading, and that pokémon that venture too far in are never seen again, or become corrupted.”  
  
“How far away is the corruption, Vidri.”  
  
“It’s half a day’s travel from Pinewood Town. The main road, the source of travelers and thereby our livelihood, runs right next to the corrupted forest. It’s part of our everyday life.”  
  
“Why was there a corrupted in town, Vidri.”  
  
”Best we can tell, it followed survivors of a group traveling to the south of us. We found seven in the company, including the braixen and delphox that made it here. Bodies of two other corrupted were found with the rest.”  
  
“Do corrupted attack often.”  
  
“No. Last time was three seasons ago. They tend to stay in the corruption, thankfully.”  
  
“Why are you injured, Vidri.”  
  
He feels his head patch prickle.   
  
“I…went to help them. The braixen and delphox. I wasn’t wearing armor, and I got stung and poisoned.”  
  
“Armor…? Pokémon don’t wear armor.”  
  
Vidri scoffs. Partly at the absurd statement. And partly at his own stupidity.  
  
“The smart ones do. Corrupted won’t stop until they tear you apart. They’re mindless monsters. You need every protection you can get.”  
  
“…And your mother makes it.”  
  
A slight pause.   
  
“…Yes.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vidri looks up at the pikachu from his spot on the floor.  
  
  
  
If before he looked broken, now he looks shattered.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He goes to get up with a grunt. “Any more questions?”  
  
“One more. What are you.”  
  
He sighs. “I’m a quilava.”  
  
“And your mother?”  
  
“A typhlosion.”  
  
“And Flint?”  
  
“…A cyndaquil.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Not seeing any further movement from the pikachu, not hearing any further questions, Vidri turns to leave. “…I expect Neste will come later to bring you to the service.”  
  
Hand on the door handle, he turns back.  
  
  
  
Arc’s just…staring.  
  
At the blanket before him.  
  
  
  
  
  
“…Goodbye Arc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😞


	27. Chapter 27

The pit in Vidri’s stomach continues to pull at his insides and burn them like acid.   
  
He leaves Wojtek’s infirmary and heads southwest. Already columns of smoke rise above the hill where he and Fierra and the corrupted fought last night.  
  
  
  
He was not expecting that sort of outburst.  
  
You wouldn’t do that on a joke. On a lie.  
  
Would you?  
  
Sure, Arc’s been through a lot, but…  
  
  
  
The look in his eyes…  
  
It can’t be an act.  
  
He must be telling the truth.  
  
But if…what Arc says is true…  
  
  
  
How? How is it even possible? What does it mean?  
  
  
  
He does not, or cannot, come to terms with it.  
  
  
  
Vidri is pulled out of his thoughts by a passing breloom. Cap. Carrying a pail of water. “‘Ey, Vidri. Been looking for ya. Think yur mum and sis already took care a the spots outside town. Head south down the road, they’ll want ya to cleanse the fields down there too.”  
  
He nods and runs down the gravel road, favoring his wounded shoulder. Grateful for any kind of a distraction.  
  
  
  
Vidri feels his head and rear patches ignite. Tips of grass stalks hanging over the road trail thin smoke as he passes.  
  
He disagrees with the theory that the corrupted spread the corruption. That they corrupt the land as they go, spreading spores or whatever. They’re insane, nothing more to it. But he’s not about to say this to the town. Nor to Neste, who he imagines would agree with him, but isn’t taking any chances.  
  
  
  
In any case, maybe they can get out ahead of a summer wildfire with a nice controlled burn.


	28. Chapter 28

Arc finds himself sitting on a carpet of grass. Feeling the blades tickle his palms and fingers. Unable to feel the prickles in his legs and feet.  
  
  
  
_What am I doing here…_  
  
  
  
He’s at the edge of a square, filled with short green grass, surrounded by a low wooden fence, surrounded by longer wild grass, surrounded by five or six alien-looking off-white rounded buildings, surrounded by log cabins. Dead in the center of town. Dark and greenish clouds hang like a pall.  
  
  
  
_This is nothing like Red…_  
  
  
  
Pokémon of many species, most he doesn’t recognize, file into the square, stand across from him, next to him, line the wooden fence. Several throw him glances. First time seeing the ‘meteor pikachu,’ probably. All wear solemn faces.  
  
  
  
_Or Pokémon Go…_  
  
  
  
He’s propped up against a sack of grain Neste brought with them, snatched on the way. His ears still burn from embarrassment. She insisted in carrying him all the way from his cabin in her pouch. As if he didn’t already feel useless, a helpless newborn.  
  
  
  
_Was something like this in the old TV show?_  
  
  
  
He vaguely notices Flint’s mother, and her brother, and Flint herself, stand next to him. Flint in particular is unusually muted, looking down. Nothing like the fireball of energy from the other day. The other two are stone-faced, as usual. If Arc cared, he could have seen Vidri stealing glances.  
  
  
  
_No, that was for kids…_  
  
  
  
Neste is talking with another pokémon at the middle of the square, next to a line of holes. The other nods and hurries away.  
  
  
  
_I…just want to go home…_  
  
  
  
  
  
Neste raises her arms, and the quiet idle talk of the crowd dies down. Her voice carries, despite her low, even tone.  
  
  
  
“Friends. I am sorry that we must gather together again like this. Any amount of time is too soon.”  
  
“Before I begin, I would like to introduce the newest member of our community: Pikachu Arc.” She gestures to him.  
  
All eyes turn to him.  
  
He’s too dead to acknowledge it.  
  
“Please welcome him to Pinewood Town. He has suffered considerably, and would certainly appreciate the gesture.”  
  
  
  
She lowers her claw, and her expression falls somewhat.  
  
“I also ask that we excuse Braixen Lessa from the memorial today. She requested that she not be present.”  
  
A low murmur floats over the group. Flint’s mother sighs. Someone whispers behind him “—heard she didn’t want her father buried here with the corrupted. I mean, I get it, but what of our responsibilities to the dead? Corrupted are pokémon too—“  
  
Neste clears her throat, and the mutters die down, though the unease does not.  
  
“Please, if you see her, give her your condolences. Though I wish it weren’t the case, I respect her wishes. As she respects our own to honor the departed.”  
  
Arc hears another grumble “—ha, ‘respects.’ I could hear her shouts from the edge of town—“  
  
  
  
He finds himself feeling for her.  
  
  
  
Neste bows her head for a moment. The square falls silent.  
  
  
  
“Today, we honor and mourn Delphox Jun, Dewott Novel, Krokorok Rift, Hattrem Essence, Hatterene Prism, and Sneasel Killian.”  
  
A small procession enters the lawn, carrying nine forms wrapped in linen. Three are strangely charred.  
  
“Of the stories Braixen Lessa could relate to me, they were all well-versed in the history of our region, lovers of knowledge and understanding. They sought to improve their lives and those of others by learning all they could, and sharing that learning. They were also well-loved and tight-knit, a family. Would that we could have welcomed them into ours, but alas.”  
  
“It rests with us, to remember and respect them, as the caretakers of their graves.”  
  
Six clean bundles are carefully lowered.  
  
“We also grieve for Leavanny, Zebstrika, and Drapion, who we only knew as tainted, not as their past selves. We seek to forgive them, that the same fate may not befall us.”  
  
Three more lowered, the charred ones.  
  
The graves are filled.  
  
“May the Strait Giratina guide their spirits to the peace of distortion, and may we ever seek to honor them.”  
  
Neste bows her head.  
  
_“Paco kaj signifo.”_  
  
The congregation incline theirs as well and murmurs _“paco kaj signifo.”_  
  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

The town disperses.  
  
  
  
Soon, it’s just Arc and the officiating party left.  
  
  
  
Although. Flint’s mother lingers, standing next to him. Viewing the freshly filled graves.  
  
He looks up tentatively.  
  
Her face doesn’t reveal much; for whatever reason, she keeps tight rein on her emotions. Somehow, though, he can sense her sorrow. And frustration.  
  
  
  
Frustration…?  
  
  
  
She turns and vaults over the fence before he has a chance to say anything.  
  
  
  
“Pikachu Arc.”  
  
He turns back to see Neste approaching, accompanied by another pokémon. A jolteon.  
  
“This is Jolteon Kach.”  
  
They give him a warm smile. He nods. Not really willing to do much else.  
  
“I’m glad you could come to the service,” the jolteon offers. “Wish it could have been a happier event, but at least now it feels like you’re part of the community.” Their voice is somewhat melodious. It’s pleasant, but…feels a bit inappropriate on a day like this.  
  
Neste nods to Arc, gesturing at his lack of bandages. “Seeing that your broken rib is healed, I thought it best we move forward in finding you a new place to stay. Though certainly sufficient, Wojtek’s clinic is a bit…isolated.”  
  
_Preaching to the choir,_ he scowls. He can see where this is going. A jolteon roommate shouldn’t be that bad. At least they’re another electric-type.  
  
“Kach and her niece Evelin have been gracious enough to offer their home.”  
  
_Evelin._ Panic flashes across his face. He’ll never see the end of it. But Neste, eye like a hawk, catches him. “Don’t worry Arc; Kach will keep Evelin in check. And honestly I think some youthful energy would be good for you.” She barely hides a grin.  
  
He is absolutely thrilled. Ecstatic, even. Fortunately he doesn’t seem to have any say in the matter.  
  
Kach chuckles as well. “Do you need to go back and collect your things?”  
  
He glowers a bit before roughly shaking his head, tugging at the bandana around his neck.  
  
Neste eyes him. “You don’t seem well today. Are you alright, Arc?”  
  
He rubs his face. _Can this be over please?_ “…jus’ couldn’t sleep last night.”  
  
Both pokémon nod, the kangaskhan understandably, the jolteon sympathetically.  
  
  
  
With that, Neste carries Arc to the jolteon’s home.


	30. Chapter 30

Lessa gazes numbly out across the shimmering water. The sun finally broke through the clouds, brilliant against the grim sky.  
  
  
  
They gave her the cabin to stay in, at her request. Apart from town, down the hill, behind a copse of trees that border the lake.  
  
Filled with dirt, dust, and cobwebs. Probably leaky. Hadn’t been lived in for a long time.  
  
Suits her well enough.  
  
  
  
She’s dazzled by the flashes of light. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t care.  
  
  
  
Part of her rebukes herself. _Do you really think, after losing them all, that this is the way to move on?_  
  
_Isolating yourself?_  
  
  
  
But the rest of her can’t bear to—  
  
And the secret—  
  
She shakes her head and walks back to the cabin.  
  
  
  
She sets about cleaning. They provided a thin straw mattress and a blanket. Food at the eating hall every morning and night, they told her; she’s on her own for the rest. At the very least she can make herself a home. At least until the next caravan comes through.  
  
  
  
Her father’s bag lays in the corner, roughly dropped, untouched since she arrived.  
  
  
  
  
  
She wishes they never left Secret Glade.


	31. Chapter 31

“Do you miss home?”  
  
  
  
Arc is sitting in his bed, fiddling with his bandana. Tracing the patterns and swirls with his eyes.  
  
  
  
“Pikachu Arc?”  
  
He looks up. “Hm?”  
  
  
  
Kach is standing on her hind legs, propped against the kitchen table, arms half white with flour, a round lump of dough in front of her.  
  
Looking at him.  
  
“Do you miss home?”  
  
  
  
He looks down again. Rearranges the scratchy blanket for the umpteenth time.  
  
“Of course I do.”  
  
She watches him for a second, then goes back to her loaf.  
  
  
  
“I’m sure your parents are worried.”  
  
Arc scoffs. “I’m sure they have no idea what’s happened.”  
  
“Oh?” Kach sounds surprised. “Why? Wouldn’t they know?”  
  
He sighs. He didn’t mean it that way. “I live alone. My parents live far away from here.”  
  
“I see.” She nods, sprinkling flour on the dough.  
  
  
  
They do know. How could they not? He hasn’t texted them since he got here. An eternity, in their eyes. They must be frantic, calling his landlord, calling the police…  
  
He screws his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to think about them. Sure, he’ll learn to live with the new body. With…the disability.  
  
But he can’t imagine, never seeing…  
  
  
  
He swallows the lump in his throat. Been having too many of those lately.  
  
_At least I called them. At least we talked last week._  
  
  
  
_…Was it really just last week?_  
  
  
  
“Tell me about them.”  
  
The words pull him back to Kach’s kitchen. “Who?”  
  
“Your parents.”  
  
He sighs, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, they’re…parents, right? Demanding. Clingy. Loving… I miss them more than I did when I lived with them, heck I miss them a _ton_ now, but…”  
  
He looks back down at the bandana. Thinks of the money he bought it with. Of the job he moved for. “…but I wasn’t going anywhere. I needed to get out, move on. Find my own way.”  
  
Kach lets out a small “heh.”  
  
He looks up. “What’s so funny?”  
  
She shakes her head, flipping the loaf over. “You sound like I did at your age.”  
  
He huffs.  
  
  
  
Kach lifts the rounded dough lump gingerly with her mouth and lowers it down to a metal tray under the table, where six other loaves rest and rise. She raises back up and scoops the rest of the dough out of her bowl.  
  
Golden twilight, finally free of the clouds, shines through the window, lighting up little motes of flour floating in the air.  
  
  
  
Arc shifts his weight, making the old sagging bed under him creak. They brought it from another house, just for him. “Wish I could help you. Or do anything useful,” he grumbles.  
  
“Oh, but you can!” Kach brightens as she jumps down, pulls the metal tray onto her back, and carefully walks it over to Arc’s bedside.  
  
He looks at her blankly. “What are these for?”  
  
She nods. “Take the tray, I’ll be right back.”  
  
Arc sets the tray on his lap and she walks into the other room. Returns with a knife, held by the handle, in her mouth.  
  
Arc takes it, confused.  
  
She laughs. “What, never made bread before? I need you to cut small x’s on the top of these loaves. Otherwise they’ll split when cooked.” She turns back and hops back up to the table, rolling out the dough ball with a wooden dowel.  
  
  
  
It takes Arc all of thirty seconds to score the loaves.  
  
He snorts. _Some help._  
  
_…But it’s something, I guess._  
  
  
  
He looks up at the jolteon. “And how do you cook them? Have you got an oven or something?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve got a secret technique.” Her eyes gleam.  
  
He rolls his own. _Like aunt, like niece._  
  
  
  
That reminds him. “Where is Evelin today?”  
  
Kach gestures with her head towards the door. “I expect she’s out with her friends. She knows to stay close.”  
  
He nods.  
  
“…Where do Evelin’s parents live?” He’s suddenly worried. “They haven’t…passed away, have they?”  
  
Kach shakes her head and laughs. “No no, nothing like that. They live off to the east, in Dawn Village.”  
  
He sighs a relief. She flips over the dough, rolls it out again.  
  
  
  
Kach seems to hear his unspoken question. Responds…hesitantly. “The corruption first appeared in spots and pockets around the region. The patches grew, but slowly, and separated. Evelin came to visit me when there was still plenty of clean land. And then, a week before she was about to return home, the corruption swarmed outward and joined together, cutting off the only route to Dawn Village by foot.”  
  
Arc blinks. “Wait…what? It can spread that fast?”  
  
Kach nods, a little grim. “Yep. I heard there was a whole village to the south that was consumed that way. It hasn’t done that in a while though. Thankfully.”  
  
“And how long ago was that?”  
  
Kach looks at him sadly. “Almost two years.”  
  
_Two **years**?_ A kid unable to see her parents for two whole years? “Holy shi—“ he quickly covers his mouth.  
  
Kach’s ear flicks.  
  
He coughs a little. “I-I mean…I’m surprised Evelin is doing so well. That would be rough for any kid.”  
  
She smiles. “That’s Evi for you.” The smile falters. “Though…it was hard. The first few months…the first year, really. It wasn’t until we were able to get a message across the corruption that she really started to get back to her old self.”  
  
Arc frowns. _Do they have texting here? Can those…magnet pokémon…text?_ “And how did you do that?”  
  
Kach explains. “A braviary happened to pass through town, and we were able to convince him to fly back and forth and relay a message. They can fly high enough to avoid the corruption’s effects.”  
  
He groans internally. _Another pokémon I don’t know. Great._ “And are her parents okay? Are they safe?”  
  
“Yes, they’re fine. Isolated, cut off from the rest of the region yes, but they have fields and harvests. They’re surviving. They didn’t say much, probably not to worry Evi.”  
  
She looks down, suddenly quiet. “Or me.”  
  
  
  
“Is it your…”  
  
“Sister. My sister. An espeon.”  
  
  
  
Arc looks at his bandana again.  
  
Absentmindedly touches the piercing in his ear.  
  
Thinks of the sister he went to get it with.  
  
“I…can relate.”  
  
Kach smiles sadly, and goes back to her dough.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“How do you do it?”  
  
Kach looks up, just about finished with her last loaf.  
  
Arc is gazing out the window, watching the long grass sway in the dying sun.  
  
“How do you stay positive? In the face of…all this?”  
  
  
  
Kach leans against the table, considering him for a moment.  
  
  
  
She claps her paws free of flour, jumps down to the floor, walks over to his bedside, and sits down. “Is it alright if I answer your question with a question?”  
  
He frowns, but nods.  
  
“How did you cope with losing your tail? Neste said it happened some years ago. How did you go on, after losing something so important to your identity?”  
  
His frown deepens. _Easy. I never had one to begin with._  
  
She doesn’t know that though. He gives her the benefit of doubt and stops and thinks.  
  
  
  
“I did because… Because I had to.”  
  
_Like the quarantine. Because I had no other choice._  
  
  
  
“A difficult way of doing it, but no less a valid one. I’m proud of you for getting through that.” Kach smiles at him.  
  
His cheeks warm.  
  
Then she looks down. “And admittedly, one that I use too often. Wish that I were like Neste, or…like my friend Philo. The hardest is when I have to put on a face for Evi, when all I want to do is stay in bed.”  
  
Arc is surprised. When was the last time he heard an adult who wasn’t his friends or coworkers say something like that?  
  
But she looks back at him, something stirring in her eyes. “But I can’t help but feel, deep inside, that things _will_ work out. I can’t say when, I can’t say how. But I do. I really do. And I cling to that every day, good or bad. Things will work out.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Kach takes the knife and tray, along with the last loaf, into the other room.  
  
  
  
Arc looks to his bandana. His grabby pikachu hand. The blanket underneath.  
  
  
  
And out the window beyond, just as the sun dips below the horizon.  
  
  
  
_Will things…work out…?_  
  
  
  
  
  


END OF PART 2 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are safe and hanging in there, wherever you are. It's a real hard time right now.
> 
> But honestly, I agree with Kach. Things will work out. I truly believe that. And even if they don't, in the end, having that mindset helps me keep moving and keep living the best I can.
> 
> Que se cuiden :)


	32. Chapter 32

  


### PART 3:

#### Melting

  
  
  
  
A few more days pass.  
  
  
  
Arc settles into Kach’s home. It’s a bit awkward sitting all day and sleeping all night in the middle of the kitchen. He feels acutely the inconvenience. But neither Kach nor Evelin mention it.  
  
The company helps a lot.  
  
Kach is a natural conversationalist. She manages to get him talking about anything (well, as long as it doesn’t involve his past). And she shares stories, how she ended up in Pinewood, what her childhood was like, the history of the town, a bit of the local gossip.   
  
He even laughed yesterday. Possibly for the first time since.  
  
  
  
Turns out Kach’s ‘secret baking technique’ is electrocuting the metal tray the loaves lay on until the bottoms are black and the insides still doughy.  
  
He gags the first time he eats one. (Thankfully she didn’t notice.) She doesn’t even add salt.  
  
He tries to suggest setting up an oven of some kind. Get six metal sheets and a thick resistive coil, and boom. Electric oven. Space-age technology at its finest.  
  
But the jolteon just chuckles, waves him off. Says the town doesn’t have metal to spare for something like that. Fierra uses it all for her metal plating. Maybe if the quarry finds a vein or something.  
  
He grumbles, but can’t come up with a counterargument.  
  
  
  
Every morning Kach cooks the loaves she prepared and left to rise the night before. She then stuffs them, still warm, into towel-lined shoulder bags (that kind of look like saddlebags) and carries them into town. After most of the day at the storehouse selling bread, she returns to clean, relax, visit friends, prepare dinner, and talk with Arc.  
  
Every morning Arc wakes up, is bored, talks with Kach when she’s home, and goes to bed.  
  
  
  
Though she’s usually out playing with Flint or other kids, Evelin is a flurry of questions and stories anytime she’s home.  
  
She somehow manages to make sitting in bed exhausting.


	33. Chapter 33

One particularly sweltering morning, there’s a knock at Kach’s door.  
  
Arc looks up from his bark squares, fanning himself with a hand. The blankets are off and he’s splayed his legs as wide as they go. His bandana rests against the back of his neck, stuck to the fur after the damp already dried.  
  
Who could that be?  
  
After a moment, a resonant voice calls from beyond the threshold. “Hello? Anyone home? Kach, are you there?”  
  
Arc clears his throat. “Kach isn’t home right now. What do you need?”  
  
No sooner does ‘need’ leave his lips that the door swings open and a tall brown caiman walks right in.  
  
  
  
Arc flinches.  
  
He’s seen this pokémon before. Back at the memorial. Even then, there’s something surprising, intimidating even, about a bipedal crocodilian walking through your front door. Especially one that’s twice his standing height.  
  
He stammers “h-hey! I told you Kach isn’t home. You can’t just waltz in here—“  
  
The caiman, inspecting the interior, turns to him, their face lighting up in a huge toothy grin. “Ah, Pikachu Arc. Kach’s told me about you. Cheers.”  
  
“Chee…” he scoffs. “Cheers to you too, aussie! Now get outta here. I’ll tell her you came by.” He resumes fanning himself.  
  
The crocodile grins wider and leans against the kitchen table. “Hmm, never got the impression from Kach that you were the prickly sort. Perhaps you were raised by a maractus? Do you know _pin missile,_ by chance?”  
  
He gets the feeling he’s being mocked. Even if he doesn’t get the joke.  
  
“Or maybe it’s just the heat. I can’t blame you.” The caiman, making no effort to leave, instead hops up on the table. Sits with tail stretched out behind, swinging their legs underneath.  
  
Arc sets his jaw. “And what are you doing here?”  
  
“Waiting for Kach, obviously.” And continues to idly observe the kitchen, as if at a picture gallery.  
  
Grasping for some sort of retort, Arc looks down to see his piles all scrambled up. The columns bleed into each other, the draw pile falling onto the foundations. He sighs as he starts flipping the homemade cards over.  
  
A brown scaly hand reaches out and plucks the ace of spades. “And what’s this?”  
  
Arc snatches the card back. “Will you get out?” Half the spade is already rubbed off. He reaches for the charcoal on his bedside crate. “They’re playing cards, you prick.” He mutters under his breath as he fills the shape back in.  
  
The croc, unfazed, grabs another card, turning it over. They look genuinely interested. “You made these?”  
  
Arc reaches out again, but they hold it out of his reach. He bites back a curse. “Yes, I did. Kach got me the bark and the charcoal and the clay. Because I’m trapped in Podunk Central and even _solitaire_ is preferable to death by boredom. Now will you please?”  
  
To his surprise, the caiman promptly returns it. “Hmm, ‘solly-tare?’ Never heard of it. Can more than one ‘mon play?”  
  
Arc hurriedly collects the rest into a deck and stashes it under the covers before the croc can try it again. Much to their amusement. “Not solitaire, no. There’s other games. Not that I would teach _you_ any of them.”  
  
The caiman looks around innocently.  
  
Arc narrows his eyes. “Besides. You still haven't told me who you are.”  
  
A faint crocodile smirk flits across their face. “I didn’t, because I thought that was obvious.”  
  
Arc’s eyes are now slits. “Nothing is obvious in this hellscape, lizardbreath.”  
  
The croc laughs. “Seriously? Kach’s never told you about me? I’ll have to chew her out when she gets here.”  
  
Arc drives his fingers into his skull. “Hnnnnnngwillyoustopbeingsuchanassandjust _tellmewhoyouare”_  
  
They nod. “Fair enough. The name’s Krokorok Philo. I’m the head quarrymon, started it a year and a half ago. Kach and I go way back.” They then gesture at Arc with a flourish. “And, you are?”  
  
Arc stares at the starbursts exploding as he screws his palms into his eyes. _Why can’t just one of these stupid monsters be **normal**_  
  
  
  
“Hey. Arc.”  
  
He pulls his hands away to see the croc extending a claw.  
  
“Lighten up. I’m just messing with you. Seriously, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With a genuine smile this time.  
  
  
  
Arc stares at the caiman hand. Furious at his antics, but conceding that…he _does_ know about Philo. Kach’s talked about him several times. They’re good friends.  
  
Arc sighs. The croo-ko-rock is right. He does need to lighten up.  
  
He half-heartedly slaps Philo’s palm, sliding his fingers off. Surprisingly he does the same, and curls the claw into a fist just as he goes to bump it. “Right on,” Philo says with a smile.  
  
Arc blinks. _Wonder where he learned that._ He shakes his head. “Alright alright, now buzz off and let me melt in peace.”  
  
The caiman chuckles. “You know,”


	34. Chapter 34

“about that…”  
  
Just then a spiky yellow fox bounds through the open door.  
  
Immediately she sees the krokorok. “Philo!! You made it!” She trots over to his side and jumps up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.  
  
“Hey there Kach.” He does the same.  
  
Arc’s eyebrows raise. Very good friends, then.  
  
She falls and hurries into the other room. “I’ll just grab a few things. Have you been waiting long?”  
  
Philo leans back to sit against the tabletop again. “Not at all. Arc’s just been telling me his life story.” He winks at him.  
  
Arc rolls his eyes.  
  
“Funny, I can’t seem to get him to tell me anything about that,” Kach calls as faint ruffling and _~ flumps ~_ float out of the room.  
  
Philo stretches. “Guess I’m more his friend than you are. Tough luck.”  
  
Arc shakes his head as he pulls out his cards and starts reshuffling them. As much as he’d like Kach to stick around, he’d prefer peace and quiet to this comedian.  
  
  
  
Kach emerges, a bundle of towels tied to her back. “All set! You ready Philo?”  
  
Philo stands up, clapping his claws together. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Ten minutes more and I’ll bake into a krokorok brick. Where’s Evi?”  
  
Kach tosses her head. “Knowing her she’s probably already there.” She then turns to Arc. “Ready Arc?”  
  
Arc freezes mid-overhand shuffle. “…Ready for what?”  
  
Kach laughs. “To go to the lake, of course! What else we going to do on a day like this? Melt in Fierra’s furnace?”  
  
  
  
Arc frowns, shakes his head. “But…”  
  
Gestures at his dead legs.  
  
  
  
Philo doesn’t even blink. He walks over to the bedside and squats down. “That’s what I’m here for, mate. Grab on.” He turns his head away, exposing his sinewy neck.  
  
Arc hesitates.  
  
“Come on Arc, it’ll be fine,” Philo says softly, encouragingly. “I’ll carry you the whole way. You can float in the shallows.” He nods. “Come on, it’ll be good for you.”  
  
  
  
Arc takes a deep breath. He’s right.  
  
He puts aside the cards, ties his bandana on tight and reaches up around the caiman’s neck. Carefully Philo stands up, pulling Arc off the bed, grabbing his legs and supporting him from underneath.  
  
Basically pika-back.  
  
Arc manages a smile.  
  
“Let’s go then!” Kach calls happily, bounding like an eevee ten years younger. “Before my fur catches fire!”


	35. Chapter 35

Arc floats in the lake shallows.  
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His ears are submerged, so he can only hear muffled screams and laughs from Evi’s and Philo’s water fight.  
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He closes his eyes, stares at the red behind his eyelids.  
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His face toasts pleasantly in the blazing sun.  
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His legs hang below him, barely scraping the sand on the bottom.  
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His arms float to his sides, as relaxed and still as his legs.  
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Water laps against the fur on his chest.  
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He floats there.  
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A [song](https://youtu.be/nDbeqj-1XOo?t=29) is dredged up from the lake bottom, a memory.  
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A guitar. A drum set. A saxophone.  
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_Us_  
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_And them_  
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_And after all,_  
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_We’re only_  
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_Ordinary men_  
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Droplets splatter his face, his eyelids.  
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_Me_  
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_And you_  
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_God only knows_  
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_It’s not what_  
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_We would choose_  
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_To do_  
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The droplets don’t dry. Arc realizes they’re tears.  
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_Forward he cried_  
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_From the rear_  
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_And the front line_  
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_Died_  
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He lets the tears fall.  
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_The general sat_  
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_And the lines on the map_  
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_Moved from side to side_  
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And lets the memories flow.  
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Arc opens his eyes.  
  
  
  
He has an idea.  
  
  
  
“BLAHBBGBLBL” He coughs and flails as lake water washes over him, impish cackling muted by the wave submerging him.  
  
He manages to pull himself upright, wiping the water from his eyes, and sees Evelin dogpaddling away. “Oh _no you don’t”_ He dives down and pulls himself into a freestyle. His legs might be dead, but he can still swim.  
  
Evelin’s laughter turns into gleeful screams as she discovers Arc is gaining on her. Within seconds he snatches her back paw and pulls her under, the water drowning out her cries for help. He yells triumphantly. Suddenly he feels two large claws heave his body up like a wet sack. For a brief moment he’s blinded by the sun, water droplets shining in the air. “A sharpedo!! A sharpedo in the lake! Look out!!” And then weightlessness, turning, screams of his own as the claws launch him five feet away, landing with a deafening _~ kasplooosh ~._  
  
He breaks the water like Jaws itself, shaking water everywhere, teeth bared, hissing like a demon.  
Evelin laughs in mock terror.  
He starts swimming towards the two,  
slowly,  
a bit faster,  
faster,  
_faster,_  
du-dun  
du-dun  
du-dun _du-dun_  
_du-dun du-dun du-dun du-dun_  
as Evelin screams for Philo to get her out of there  
the krokorok holding the eevee high and surging through the water  
quick Philo  
hurry  
how is he so fast  
looK OUT PHILO  
AAAAAAA  
_~ spallsh ~_ she falls in the water  
and a bigger NONONONO _~ splooooosh ~_ as Arc yanks Philo’s leg out from under him and he lands face-first.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Kach sits under the shade of the trees by the lakeside, content to watch and listen to the yells and laughter.  
  
  
  
Happy for him.  
  
  
  



	36. Chapter 36

Flint grumbles as she roots around under the hearth, raking out hardened slag and metal bits from the fuel hole. “ _‘Sure, it’s Flint’s turn today! I did it last week!’_ ” she mocks. “Well that’s a big fat LIE.” She coughs on a big cloud of soot and scoops out a mound of ash.  
  
Eyes watering she dumps the scoop’s contents into a metal pail and hobble-drags it out of the workshop, down the hill. “Stinkin’ chores…Evi got to go swim in the lake…and I’m _stuck_ here…” The sun hangs amber above the horizon, criss-crossed with wispy clouds.  
  
At the bottom Flint dumps the bucket into an ever-growing pile of cinders, resting in a rock-lined depression. Apparently the farmers use the ashes as fertilizer? How could something that’s clearly dead and burnt help something that’s alive? She shakes her head and wearily tromps back up the hill. Only one more load to go. Or two. Or three.  
  
  
  
As she approaches the ceramic house she hears her name through the window.  
  
“—Flint how to drive the bellows?”  
  
“She hasn’t evolved yet, Vidri.”  
  
“What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
  
  
Flint slows to a halt. The bucket rests on the ground, the handle swings down with a soft _~ clenk ~._  
  
  
  
“Who cares if she hasn’t evolved? I’ve seen her _quick attack._ It’s more than powerful enough to—“  
  
“That doesn’t change the fact she’s smaller than you, Vidri. The bellows is too strong. The pull would put out the fire. Until she evolves—”  
  
“Then build a smaller one! Let her get some experience and work up to it!”  
  
“…What is this about, Vidri?”  
  
  
  
Flint can guess what it’s about. Her back patches prickle. He’s actually doing it.  
  
  
  
“I’m moving on, mom. I’m done with my apprenticeship. I’m going to Tidal Shores.”  
  
  
  
_Fissure._  
  
  
  
Fierra scoffs. “Tidal Shores? You’ll have no business there. The Spiny Mountains have halted the corruption’s spread. No growth in that direction for six years. They have no need for armor.”  
  
“Who said anything about armor?”  
  
  
  
“Vidri.”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it mom.”  
  
“Vidri. You have talent. I’ve seen your progress. But—“  
  
“But what! I know how to build a furnace. You had me break ours down and rebuild it, remember? I can do it again!”  
  
“That’s not what I was—“  
  
“That cerulean vase was the last one I messed up. I’ve made seven good pieces now, and plenty of test ones. You’ve said so yourself. I’ve got it down. People will buy them!”  
  
“—Yes. _Yes_ Vidri. Someone will buy one. But is that what pokémon need? Glassware?”  
  
“Better glassware than _murder_ weapons!”  
  
  
  
Flint wants to sink into the ground. And she’s not even part of the argument.  
  
  
  
“…Take that back, Vidri.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“We protect this town. We protect those who travel. Without us even more pokémon would be dead or lost. Corrupted.”  
  
“We _kill_ pokémon, mom. We help others kill. We made twelve iron spikes this week. _Twelve.”_  
  
“I know how many we’ve made.”  
  
“And where will it end? How will this solve our problem? It won’t. This leads nowhere, mom. We’re no closer to getting rid of the corruption than Arc is to upping and walking tomorrow.”  
  
  
  
_~ SMACK ~_  
  
Flint flinches.  
  
  
  
“You leave Arc out of this.”  
  
  
  
Flint shifts awkwardly. That was pretty bad, even for Vidri.  
  
  
  
“…I’m sorry. But I’ve learned all I can. I’ve wanted to leave for the past year, but I knew you needed me. So I stayed.  
  
“And I was happy to. We were making all those tools, the water pump, the voice cone, even that splashin’ quarry cart. We were helping the town grow, not just protecting it.  
  
“I understand we need to make armor. I get that it brings in needed money for the town. That it helps travelers who could die otherwise. But I won’t help you make weapons. Not anymore. Get Flint or Wojtek or someone else to do it.”  
  
  
  
There’s silence for a time.  
  
Flint fidgets. She’d give anything to leave, to have not heard this conversation at all, but she can’t tear herself away.  
  
  
  
Finally, Fierra speaks, her voice soft. “Alright Vidri. If you stay until Flint is ready, then I will find someone else to help with the spikes.”  
  
Vidri’s voice softens too, but is still adamant. “And help in other ways. Make more tools. Dig around upstairs for more weird designs. Even if it means delaying plate orders.”  
  
…A sigh. “I will try.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Flint hurriedly and quietly finishes her chores. Cleans out the rest of the hearth, locks down the furnace, runs down to the lake to wash off. Then yells in the front door _“IfinishedallmychoresmamaI’mgoingtohangoutwithEviseeyoulater”_ and takes off without waiting to hear back.


	37. Chapter 37

The candle sputters quietly, flaring against the honeyed wax in the jar. It casts quivering shadows into the darkness of Kach’s kitchen, though they’re more homey than haunting. A lid rests nearby, ready to snuff if needed.  
  
Arc works late into the night, leaning over a metal pan, an array of thin bark sheets spread upon it. Several more crumpled or ripped litter the floor around the bed. His hand is blackened with charcoal.  
  
  
  
Do pokémon understand basic mechanics?  
How does he illustrate this?  
  
He rubs it out, tries again. Maybe from a different angle? He’s not a draftsman by any means, but he’s inspired.  
  
A skate wheel spins in his mind, a board upside-down, testing the bearings. He sketches the corresponding wheel joint. Who’d’ve thought having to replace his friends’ wheels and his own would pay off like this?  
  
Notes fill the margins. Location of the center of gravity. Springs or some sort of suspension. Driver rims outside the main wheels.  
  
  
  
Sketching out the seat now. Or perhaps some sort of sling? He’d hate to sit on splintery wood day in and day out.  
  
Memories flit past, before his eyes.  
  
His grandmother.  
  
The perfume she always wore. Her kindly smile. Her soft and weathered skin.  
  
The lift they installed in the family van.  
  
The delicious food he helped her cook. Thursdays of spaghetti, Sundays of cinnamon rolls. Climbing onto the counters to reach high dishes, opening the oven for her, flinching against the wave of heat. Licking the bowl.  
  
That one time Gran let him try it out. Rolling, spinning, gaining confidence, racing around the living room. Trying to balance on two wheels, wobbling precariously, shouting in triumph, tilting too far back, falling and bumping his head on the carpet. Gran’s laughs as she rubbed his head and wiped his tears.  
  
  
  
At first the memories bothered him. A painful reminder. Incessant, inconvenient.  
  
Warmth spread through his chest as he realized.  
  
They’re helping him heal.  
  
  
  
Arc exhales and leans back. That should be enough. He can explain the rest.  
  
  
  
Before him is a rough design for a wheelchair.


	38. Chapter 38

The next morning, Arc gets Kach’s attention.  
  
“Hey Kach? Thanks again for the bark and charcoal. Helps a lot to pass the time.”  
  
“No problem Arc.” She doesn’t look up, trying to fit her new invention, ‘cheri-ffins,’ into her bread packs without squashing them.  
  
“…Could you, do me another favor? A small one.” The plans are hidden under the covers, laid face-to-face to avoid blurring the drawings.  
  
She looks to him, mildly curious.  
  
“Could you ask Fierra to come by? There’s something I’d like to ask her.”  
  
Kach tilts her head. “Is it anything I can answer?”  
  
“N-not really. It’s…about her work.”  
  
The jolteon ponders him, but then nods. “Of course.”  
  
  
  
Arc smiles. “Thanks Kach.”


	39. Chapter 39

Fierra hesitates, then knocks on Kach’s front door.  
  
  
  
Why does Arc want to see her?  
  
  
  
The door swings open, revealing the jolteon’s ever sunny face. “Fierra! Come on in.” She steps aside to let the typhlosion enter.  
  
Fierra glances over the home. Despite the fact her daughter and Kach’s niece are near inseparable, this is the first time she’s come calling. A two-room cabin. Appears to be a kitchen and living area here, with prominent table in the center, counters along the left wall, cupboards underneath, and a window looking out. And the other room, she presumes to be a bedroom, though Kach pulls a curtain over the opening before she can catch a glimpse.  
  
“How’s your work going? You been kept busy?” Kach is preparing some sort of meal, the pungent scent of garlic and onions hanging low over the kitchen. A lump of pastry dough sits on the table.  
  
Fierra walks over to inspect the jolteon’s handiwork. Not all too dissimilar from her own trade, in a way. Forging grains instead of metal. “Somewhat. Not a lot of travelers in the past week. I’m starting to think we should send a party to investigate the corruption border. Especially given last week’s attack.”  
  
Kach’s cordial expression falters a bit at that, but she says nothing.  
  
“At least you never seem to slow down,” Fierra offers, plucking up a garlic clove and biting into it. “When’s the next time you’ll be selling your cinna-loaves? That aroma is legendary.”  
  
“Hh-ahem.”  
  
  
  
Fierra looks over.  
  
She sees Arc, seated on an ancient bed, bowing in the middle, headboard shoved up against the back wall. A crate functioning as a bedside table. For a moment she wonders why Kach would position it this way, with a huge waste of space to either side…but then realizes it’s to give Arc a clear view of the room.  
  
Arc himself sits tall. The covers are pulled back, understandable given the recent heat. The green cloth he always seems to wear is tied around his forehead, perhaps damp with water to keep him cool.  
  
He looks…exposed. With his legs awkwardly bent, laid in front of him, lifeless. And without a tail.  
  
But his eyes glimmer with confidence. With…hope.  
  
It’s a welcome change.  
  
  
  
“Hello Arc,” she says, approaching him. “You wanted to speak to me?”  
  
He pauses, but then nods firmly. “Yeah. I’ve heard from Kach and your son that you’re a blacksmith.”  
  
She tilts her head, unfamiliar with the word.  
  
“…I-I mean a metalworker.”  
  
She inclines her head at that.  
  
He looks down at a stack of bark he’s holding. And then hands the stack to her. “I want to ask, will you make this for me?”  
  
  
  
Fierra peers at the stiff pages with interest. Kach puts down her knife and walks over to crane her neck at them as well.  
  
“I-I’m not asking for charity,” Arc continues, a stammer betraying his nerves. “I’d be more than happy to work to pay it off, once I get moving again.”  
  
“Wait, this will help you _move_ again, Arc?” Kach asks with astonishment.  
  
Arc nods. “Well yeah. It’s a wheelchair. I’m sure we’ll need to adjust some things, but given Fierra’s experience we should…”  
  
  
  
Fierra hears none of this.  
  
She leafs through the pages. A second time for good measure.  
  
Indeed these are drawings of some sort of chair with wheels. Full-scale drawings, from multiple angles to show dimensions and design, as well as close-up sketches to show detail.  
  
She’s seen pictures like these before. Not a ‘wheel-chair’ per se, but a similar style. And not drawn with charcoal, but somehow fused with the page itself.  
  
And not only that. Strange markings litter the margins of the sheets, forming blocks of unintelligible texture. Individually the symbols resemble a tree, or the tail of a meowth, or an undulating seviper, but they’re arranged in some pattern she doesn’t understand.  
  
A pattern she’s never been able to understand.  
  
“Kach?” she asks, not looking up from the bark. “Where did you find these?”  
  
“I didn’t…” Kach replies, bemused. “I’ve never seen these before. Arc must’ve—“  
  
“I made them. I drew them.”  
  
  
  
Fierra looks up at the pikachu.  
  
“You _made_ these?”  
  
Arc wavers under her intense stare, his ears drooping a little. “Yes…?”  
  
_“You_ made these,” she repeats, holding up the main drawing of the chair.  
  
He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. I know I’m not an artist, or an engineer for that matter, but I’d be happy to—“  
  
She holds up another page, pointing to one of those textured blocks of markings. “How do you know about these symbols? Where did you copy them from?”  
  
“I…” Arc is bewildered. “…I didn’t. They’re just letters. Notes, to myself, to you in case the drawings weren’t clear enough…”  
  
  
  
Fierra struggles to regain her composure.  
  
She finds she cannot.  
  
She turns to leave, still holding the sheaf. “I need to think about this. May I bring these with me to study?” She doesn’t wait for his response.  
  
Arc reaches out for them, only to drop his hand a moment later. “I…of course, sure. Is there anything I can help explain?”  
  
“I’m sure there will be. Good day, Arc. Kach.” And she opens the front door and walks out.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
A stunned moment passes.  
  
Arc turns to Kach. “What…did I do?”  
  
The jolteon is just as confused. “What did you draw?”  
  
He throws his arms around to absolve himself. “Like I said, a wheelchair! Super simple, a chair with wheels! And all I wrote was English, there wasn’t anything _weird_ about it!”  
  
  
  
Kach frowns at him. “I don’t know Arc. We’ll have to see what she says.”  
  
  
  
Arc turns to look back at the door. At the typhosion’s exit.  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Her feet carry her home. She can’t tear her gaze away. Her pulse refuses to slow. She realizes she’s holding her breath. Not even a corrupted attack has shaken her so.  
  
The water pump. The bellows. Vidri’s glassblowing pipe. Even her blast furnace.  
  
All those designs came from pages in her loft.  
  
  
  
_How in the name of the original ones…_


	40. Chapter 40

A single candle glows still and unmoving. With no windows, the ceramic home lets in no breeze. Regardless, shadows flicker and jump across the loft, sprouting from the errant tongues of flame that lick the typhlosion’s shoulders. She’s too distracted to contain them.  
  
The ladder lies nearby, withdrawn, next to a plate of berry pits and veggie stems. Flint protested at first, wanting to come up and help, but eventually gave up, knowing her mother prefers solitude for these sorts of things.  
  
Fierra kneels at her floor desk, a simple hollowed-out wood block with a lid. She compares the bark page to yet another sheet of paper, one found in a nook of the storehouse years ago. Strange colors and shapes are arranged on this one, vaguely organic things. But here, _here,_ the same symbols. Small groupings under each colored blob. In a different style, yes, uniform and almost blocky instead of handwritten. But the same.  
  
‘Letters,’ did he call them?  
  
  
  
Fierra sets down the sheets.  
  
Rubs her face wearily. Tiredly.  
  
It’s too late. Past midnight, given her fatigue.  
  
  
  
Looks at the bark sheets.  
  
Looks over at her stack of designs, resting an arm’s length away. Already the string binding the first many pages has crumbled away, leaving only flimsy sheets that rip and crumble under the slightest tension. A loose drawing for some sort of mold, hinged on the side to open like a krabby’s claw, sits on top.  
  
  
  
Her shoulder flames sputter and die out.  
  
She can hear Flint mumbling downstairs in her sleep.  
  
  
  
She picks up the bark again.  
  
The ‘wheel-chair,’ as Arc called it.  
  
  
  
A tired smile flickers across her face.  
  
Setting aside the…bewildering coincidence at hand.  
  
She knows how much it would help him.  
  
And maybe…it could convince Vidri to stay. At least, a bit longer.  
  
  
  
The rest…she would keep to herself.  
  
  
  
But she frowns as she looks over the sketch once more. The large driving wheels are smart, she’ll give him that. But surely Arc doesn’t expect to sit around on his rump all day. He has two fit arms. What is he, bipedal?  
  
She flips over the bark stack until she finds a blank side, lifts the lid of her desk for a lump of charcoal, and starts sketching out her own version of a ‘wheel-chair.’  
  
Or rather—‘wheel- _legs.’_


	41. Chapter 41

Arc wakes up feeling good.  
  
  
  
“Hey Kach.”  
  
Kach stops in front of his bed, carrying the usual tray of risen loaves. The sun has just begun to break through the eastern window. “Morning Arc. You’re up early.”  
  
He grins. “That I am. Could you help me with something?”  
  
She nods, sets the tray on the kitchen table, and stands at his bedside, awaiting.  
  
Without warning he reaches over, grabs around her neck, and pulls himself off the bed.  
  
Kach yelps in surprise, almost falling over. “Arc what are you—“  
  
His feet slam into the hard dirt floor. He winces; that’ll probably bruise. He slowly extends his arms and then drops the rest of the way, landing face-first with a grunt.  
  
“Arc you can’t—“  
  
And proceeds to push himself off the ground.  
And lower himself.  
Push up.  
Lower down.  
Push up.  
Lower down.  
  
Kach slowly sits, completely baffled. “Arc talk to me. Are you okay?”  
  
_“hng_ -yep!” he groans.  
  
A pause. “What…are you doing?”  
  
He raises up. Only been what, three weeks? And his arms are total weaksauce. _“hah._ Push-ups, Kach. _phoo”_ and lowers again.  
  
“And…what are those?”  
  
He screws his eyes tight from the exertion. “What…I’m doing…right now…”  
  
Kach stares at him, at a loss for words.  
  
This goes on for a few more seconds until Arc collapses onto his face, panting heavily. He swears under his breath. _Only twelve? Seriously??_  
  
He turns to look up at her, his browfur damp, a wily smile peeking out. “It’s exercise. _hah_ I need to be _hah_ ready when Fierra _hah_ finishes the wheel-legs _hah,_ right?”  
  
Realization dawns on her. Her face cracks into a big smile. “How many more are you going to do?”  
  
“No more—“ He twists himself, reaching towards his legs. “—help me flip over, will you?”  
  
This she does, eager to see what’s next.  
  
Lying on his back, he stares at the wood-and-straw ceiling for a moment. _I wonder if this’ll work…_ He laces his fingers behind his neck, and thrusts his chest up into the air.  
  
He can’t make it all the way up, but it’s a decent crunch.  
  
But he forgets to flex on the way down, and he drops and whacks his head against the hard dirt floor.  
  
_“OOH”_ He winces against the explosion of color behind his eyes.  
  
“And what was that called?” Kach asks dryly. “Knocking yourself senseless?”  
  
He shakes his head and glares up at her. But continues his crunches.  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc lays on his bed, panting.  
  
It took some doing, but after tying a blanket to the opposite end of the frame as a rope, and with Kach nosing him up, they were able to get him situated again. The next time will be easier. She left to zap away at the day’s loaves, chuckling lightly to herself.  
  
He could only manage twenty crunches. **Twenty.**  
  
  
  
Fierra came by yesterday to share her revised plans. He doesn’t remember pikachus being four-legged in the TV show, but he does remember them being called ‘electric mice.’ So it makes some sense, he supposes.  
  
The ‘wheel-legs,’ as she called them, kind of looked like those basketball wheelchairs he’d seen watching public television as a kid…if he tilted his head and squinted really hard. (Fierra’s a worse artist than he is.) He’d apparently crouch inside a sort of sling, strapped-in with his knees to his chest, and then the wheels would extend about as far down as his legs normally would. Then he’d be able to fall forward and ‘walk on all fours.’  
  
The rest of that afternoon was spent discussing the specifics of the design. Arc had never seen the normally stone-faced typhlosion so excited. They adjusted the sling for comfort, added a peg-stand to the back for him to lean back and rest with (and brakes to keep the wheels from slipping out under him), took some rough measurements of his torso and leg length. Fierra was even game to try the ball bearing idea, though he had no idea how she’d be able to pull it off.  
  
  
  
He glares up at the ceiling, grinning madly, as if daring the sky.  
  
_No more taking this lying down. It’s go time._


	42. Chapter 42

“SLEEPOVER WITH EVI AND ARC!! SLEEPOVER WITH ARC AND EVI!!”  
_“Aaaa I’m so excited!!”_  
  
Arc flings his wooden spoon in surprise, clattering against the back wall, splattering batter all over.  
  
He blanches. _Oh **no** —_  
  
And barely has time to snatch away his mixing bowl before a whirlwind of laughter and blankets blasts through the open door and crashes into his bed.  
  
“Can you believe it Flint?? We’re gonna stay up late, tell scary stories, maybe Auntie Kach will even let us stargaze!!”  
“OhgeezI’msoexcitedaren’tyouexcitedArc??”  
“Of course he’s excited! Don’t you see his face? I’m sure he’d _much_ rather play karhd games with us than have to stir that sticky, heavy dough.” Evi sticks out her tongue. “I _hate_ mixing dough. It’s _exHAUSting.”_  
“Oooh Evi was telling me about those!! What’s a karhd game, Arc?”  
“It’s like, he’s got these little pieces of bark with little symbols on them, and you hold them close to your face so no one else can see, and then you say ‘go phish’ or ‘hit me’ (but you don’t actually hit anyone) or ‘speed’ really really loud and it’s SO fun”  
Flint claps her little paws in delight. “Oooooooooooo can I see? Can I see? Can I see?”  
“Yeah Arc sir, show us! What’re the little symbols called again? ‘Harts?’ ‘Spiddles?’”  
  
Kach finally comes out of the other room, barely concealing a mischievous grin. Arc shoots her a look of utter betrayal. She walks over to the bed to try and break the storm.  
  
“Alright, alright, let Arc finish his cake batter. Evi will you—“  
“You mean you’re baking a CAKE???”  
“Oh I _love_ cake!! Arc sir, I can’t believe it, you’re so nice!”  
“Are you a baker too?? Who taught you to bake??”  
“Auntie Kach, _obviously._ Or wait. Wait, Arc sir, did your _mom_ teach you to bake?? Aww, that’s so cuuuute!!”  
  
Kach finally manages to heave the forces of nature off Arc’s bed. _“Evi._ Will you _please_ clean up the mess you made Arc make? And I’ll need your help finishing dinner. Flint, we can keep the blankets in the other room for now, could you take them in here…”  
  
Arc grabs Kach’s leg as she walks past and leans in close, his voice black. _“You never said anything about this, you could’ve at least given me some warning—“_  
  
Kach returns with a shimmer in her eye, “Oh, must’ve slipped my mind.” And she shrugs him off and shoulders a blanket to follow after Flint.  
  
Evi bounces over and drops a damp towel on his lap before running outside to soak another. He looks down. Almost a fourth of the cake batter is now found on his chest.  
  
  
  
Arc is not a praying man. But that might change before the night is up.  
  
  
  



	43. Chapter 43

“Where have you been?”  
  
  
  
“And whose fault is that?”  
  
  
  
“First you run off without consulting me, then you go and drag a human into this mess, and _then_ you bungle the sending and manage to _paralyze_ the thing!”  
  
  
  
“And what was this _soul_ doing that rattled you so?”  
  
  
  
“A knife!! Woe betide the lucario that’s threatened by a knife!”  
  
  
  
  
  
_“sigh._ At least I made contact, not that it helps us much. The situation being as it is.”  
  
  
  
“And how do you think this _human_ feels?”  
  
  
  
“I can’t heal him, Hope.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“Hope.”  
  
  
  
_“Hope.”_  
  
  
  
  
  
“I said I can’t heal him. Empower, augment, maybe. But bind what was cut, restore that which has been severed? Not even the original ones can.  
  
“And even if I were to bless him. Doing so would _incapacitate_ me, Hope. Or very nearly so. Do you think the others would not notice? Do you think they would be blind to one of their own, being reduced to that of a mere hatchling? We will be found out, Hope.”  
  
  
  
“Hope, that will _not_ help, and you know it.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“…Alright, Hope. Alright. If you think this human is our salvation…then I am willing.”  
  
  
  
“Hope.”  
  
  
  
“You gave me when I had none. Don’t lose yourself either.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“…The human is somewhere near the Spiny Mountains; that’s the bes—


	44. Chapter 44

“Arc!! Pikachu Arc sir, wake up!!”  
  
His arm lashes out, knocking into something soft. _“Ouch,_ Arc that was my _nose!”_  
  
  
  
His brain slowly boots up, clicking and whirring like the old PC his dad used to have.  
  
It’s dark.  
  
Dim moonlight drips through the window. The faint smell of sweet bread hangs low. Scratchy blankets underneath him.  
  
And two shadowy blobs loom directly over him.  
  
He rubs his eyes. “Whaaa…whass up?”  
  
“What’s up?? There’s nothing up, just the ceiling!”  
“We’re _serious,_ Arc sir! You gotta wake up!”  
  
With a groan he pushes himself up on one elbow, then the other, then manages to get into a more-or-less seated position.  
  
Evelin and Flint are sitting on the bed, the eevee staring at him with eyes big and glowing in the darkness.  
  
He squints back, still half asleep. “What’s going on…?”  
  
Evelin, suddenly quiet, averts her gaze. “You were right, Arc sir. Sorry I doubted you.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow. _What…?_  
  
Flint jumps in to explain, still rubbing her snout. “You were _sparking,_ Arc! You really were! And really bright, really _big_ ones too, like these zip-zappy long ones that reached the floor. It was _scary._ We were afraid the roof would catch fire. It’s lucky you didn’t hit us.”  
  
  
  
Arc blinks a number of times.  
  
Slowly rubs his cheeks. They feel as pudgy and rubbery as usual.  
  
Last time someone told him he sparked was…  
  
He turns to Evelin. “Was that it? Did anything else happen?”  
  
The eevee is on the verge of tears. Whatever happened, really rattled her. “Uh…you were mumbling something in your sleep. Something like…’a knife’…and ‘severed’… We thought maybe you were having a nightmare…”  
  
Arc massages his eyes, trying to think back, reload the dream in his mind. But the data’s already been wiped. Only the vaguest memories of someone talking, but…  
  
He breathes a big sigh, looks at the two young pokémon. “Sorry y’all, I can’t remember what it was. But you know I spark sometimes, right? Like I told you? It’s no big deal.”  
  
Evelin looks up at him, her lip quivering. “But Arc sir, you’ve never done that before. Not since you came to live with us.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Eventually the two calm down enough to jump off his bed and curl up in the blankets on the floor, after several reassurances that yes, he was okay, and no, he won’t spark anymore tonight. They murmur to each other, much more subdued than their loud storytelling earlier.  
  
  
  
Arc stays up, sitting on his bed, looking out the window at the pale lit grass bowing in the breeze.  
  
  
  
  
  
Memories bubble up at random. The last time he bought coffee, before the shutdown. Turning on his car…to drive home for Christmas. His apartment, dark, shafted with streetlight.  
  
  
  
  
  
_Hmm._


	45. Chapter 45

The sun beats down on the corrugated metal roof, baking it and everyone underneath.  
  
  
  
Vidri wipes his brow and readies himself. The tongs quiver slightly in his grip.  
  
“Alright Flint. Go for it.”  
  
A few paces away, his sister springs up, reaches for her toes, and _quick attacks_ down onto the miniature bellows. It _~ whooshes ~,_ and then _~ wheezes ~,_ as Flint grips the top and slowly rises up, pulling a respectable draught of air.  
  
The hearth flares to life.  
  
“Keep it up, Flint. That’s good.”  
  
Her face is determined as she jumps, twists, _quick attacks,_ rides, jumps, twists, _quick attacks,_ rides.  
  
“Not quite so fast there. Let it come all the way up.”  
  
She barks out in protest between jumps. “Ugh, come ON Vidri! — I’ve been practicing for three days. — Give me a break!”  
  
The forge glows, hungry, ready to cook steel.  
  
  
  
Vidri licks his lips and inserts the small ingot into the coals to heat up. Monitors as the metal peeking out slowly, ever so slowly, turns maroon, then red, then glowing orange.  
  
Fierra made him build the Flint-sized bellows after their…‘discussion’ two weeks ago. He grumbled as he stitched, carved, hammered, and glued. Even if he saw the logic in it; he’d have to do it again for his own shop in Tidal Shores. Just an avalugg of a pain.  
  
He wipes his brow again. He forgot to wear his headband today.  
  
And now he’s helping Flint practice temperature control while Fierra runs errands. She’s good, he’ll give her that. Although her technique lacks finesse. Perhaps with some _quick attack_ sprints up and down the hill after this—  
  
_“Yow!!”_  
  
Vidri shakes his smarting free-paw. Something burned him.  
  
He looks down. The ingot is yellow. And sparking.  
  
_Too hot._ He got distracted.  
  
In a panic he reaches in with the tongs and plucks the block out of the coals. More sparks pepper his arms and face. He yelps in pain, reflexively dropping both the ingot and the tongs into the fire.  
  
_Rock rock rock rock rock rock rock_  
  
He lunges over to Fierra’s workbench. Thankfully she keeps two pairs. Tools clatter and bang as he searches. Finally snatches the spare tongs and runs back to the hearth—  
  
—and in his hurry touches his arm to the white-hot metal ingot.  
  
_“YAAAAAGH”_  
  
By now Flint has stopped driving the bellows, climbing down to see what’s happening. She’s almost sent flying by her brother, who rushes for the water pump at the other side of the house. She follows him, bewildered. “Vidri what’s wrong! What happened??”  
  
The quilava holds his right arm under the spout as he works the handle furiously. Eyes screwed tight. Teeth grinding.  
  
“…Bring me my headband, will you? It’s on my shelf.”  
  
  
  
Vidri stands back at the hearth, his blue headband wrapped tightly around the burn. He’ll put some rawst on it later.  
  
He holds the spare tongs again. The other pair is over on the marver to cool. The ingot is safely in the side coals, coming back down to a bright orange.  
  
His heart is quaking.  
  
“Alright Flint. We’ll try this again. I’ll let it dip down to cool orange and then heat it back up. Begin again when I tell you.”  
  
The cyndaquil climbs back up on the bellows, cross. “Yeah yeah. Don’t be a spinda and burn yourself again.”  
  
  
  
The fire roars, Flint leaps, the metal heats, Vidri extracts.  
  
Grabbing the hammer, he sets about pounding the ingot.  
  
The deafening shout of sound, the rhythmic bounce of metal on metal on metal.  
  
The pain in his arm.  
  
_~ CLANG ~_  
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
  
He’s gonna have that burn for the rest of his life.  
  
_~ CLANG ~_  
  
On the outside of his right forearm. A furless red line. Even after he evolves.  
  
How could he be such a nincada, panicking like that.  
  
_~ CLANG ~_  
  
The metal flattens. Cools.  
  
Flatter. Red. Thinner. Maroon.  
  
Almost gray.  
  
“Vidri you need to—“  
  
_**~ KRAK ~**_  
  
  
  
He flinches.  
Closes his eyes.  
Pulls his arm up.  
  
  
  
Feels nothing.  
  
  
  
He hears something whizzing off.  
Lands on grass.  
  
  
  
  
  
He lets out his breath with a shake and a sigh.  
  
Slowly opens his eyes. Turns around.  
  
  
  
Fierra is standing behind him.  
  
A slight red line drips along the side of her cream-colored neck.  
  
  
  
  
  
He lifts a hand to his mouth.  
  
  
  
“Oh mew.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Silently Fierra takes the hammer, takes the too-cold, brittle, dangerous piece of metal, and sets them on the workbench. Then she walks out into the sun to retrieve the broken shard.  
  
  
  
Silently Flint gets out from under the marver and runs for the house. Comes back with a damp cloth and a roll of bandage.  
  
  
  
Silently Vidri stands frozen. Staring at the afterimage of that red line.  
  
  
  
  
  
_Guillotine._


	46. Chapter 46

Kend straightens up with a groan and leans back to crack stiff exoskeleton joints. Adjusts his wide-brimmed hat with the back of his scythe.  
  
The sun beats down hard on the farmland south of Pinewood Town. A square mile of cultivated earth, cut out of the grass and baking in the early summer blaze. Half the town is here working, scattered among the plots.  
  
The scyther starts his wings up again, sending a cooling breeze and a low buzz over his patch of earth. He surveys his progress so far: eleven rows tilled, three more to go. Then over to Drilbur Emil’s plot, while they plant the squash and cucumbers here. Then over to Cap’s, and then Rechi’s…  
  
He sighs. Maybe he could get Fierra to make him some shovel-sheathes. Or a hardened pick, take a turn at the quarry for a change.  
  
  
  
“Hail!”  
  
Kend turns to the road, a hundred paces to the east.  
  
There stands an arcanine, a light dust cloud dissipating behind them. Kend blinks. Don’t see one of them every day. Not up north, at least.  
  
He lifts a scythe and waves a greeting. “Welcome to Pinewood! Just a bit further and you’ll find the town center.”  
  
The pokémon tosses their heavy mane. “Oh, I’m just passing through. On my way to the coast.”  
  
Something on their forehead glints in the sunlight. A small gem or pendant. The scyther frowns. Some sort of…emissary?  
  
“Well you’re on the right track. The pass should have melted by now, you could make it in three or four days.”  
  
The arcanine looks straight at him. Even from this distance, Kend wilts a little under the gaze.  
  
“Tell me, have there been any…disturbances here of late?”  
  
The scyther rubs his forehead with his scythe-back. “Yeah, actually. We had a few corrupted go after some travelers, ’twas a nasty night lemme tell—“  
  
_“Besides_ those caused by the corruption.”  
  
“—yuhhh……” The scyther trails off.  
  
  
  
Kend stops to consider. The arcanine paws at the ground, letting some impatience show.  
  
He furrows his brow. “Don’t…believe so? Things’ve been fairly quiet… I mean you could go ask our town lead, Kangaskhan Neste. She’s at the quarry today. Should be on your left paw, twenty minutes’ walk past town.”  
  
The arcanine inclines their head. “I will do that. Thank you for your time.” They then turn and set off north at a trot.  
  
  
  
The scyther watches them go.  
  
Disturbance? _Other_ than the corruption? What kind of nonsense… What else could there be, than a distortion-hole spewing crazed freaks?  
  
He sighs and bends back over. He’d ask Neste later, but he knows she probably won’t have more to share. Besides, these fields won’t till themselves.


	47. Chapter 47

“Ha! Three nines! I beat your pair of ices!” Philo throws the cards on the bed triumphantly.  
  
Arc leans down to squint at the play. “No no look, that one's a _six._ See, it’s got that little circle at the bottom, with a tail at the top. Nines have the tail on the bottom.”  
  
Philo frowns. He reaches over and rotates the card. “There. It’s a nine.”  
  
Arc sighs with mock exasperation. “Philo, I wrote the six in both directions. You have to look at the number at the top.”  
  
The krokorok leans back with a _~ humph ~,_ folds his arms. “You’re pulling my tail here, Arc. Why’re we using your silly coastal symbols anyway?”  
  
Arc shrugs. “Hey, if you want to draw every spade and every club on every card, be my guest.” He turns to the pokémon next to him. “Got anything Kach?”  
  
The jolteon just wrinkles her brow.  
  
“…Kach, you’re holding the cards backwards.”  
  
Her eyes open wide, and with a sheepish laugh she turns her hand around.  
  
Arc’s eyes narrow. “Were you doing that on purpose?”  
  
Kach coughs lightly and tosses her pile on the bed. “Welp, guess I don’t have anything.” Grins widely back at Arc.  
  
Arc rolls his eyes and reshuffles the deck. This is harder than one might expect, given the brittleness of the bark and the smudge-prone markings. “Alright, let’s try _once_ more, and if it still doesn’t click, then…” He pauses. “I don’t know what we’ll do.”  
  
Philo chuckles a little at that.  
  
Arc deals out five cards to Kach, Philo, and himself.  
  
“Wait.” Philo and Kach freeze, hands hovering over hands.  
  
With a smirk on his face, Arc pulls out a pouch. Metal jingles inside. “How about’s we…make this a bit more interesting?”  
  
Kach’s jaw drops. “Arc!! Where did you get that money from?”  
  
The pikachu looks smug as hell. He brushes off his shoulder. “Found it on the street.”  
  
Philo bursts out laughing as Kach shoots daggers. “Arc if you had Evi steal that from me so help me—”  
  
Arc claps his hands to cut her off. “SO! Gambling rules! Each person has to contribute ten coins.” Philo’s already reaching for his coin pouch as Arc leans over to Kach and murmurs, “you might need to get your wallet.”  
  
The jolteon grumbles as she pushes away from the bedside and walks into the other room. “Be right back. And _Philo don’t you dare look at my cards.”_ Philo pulls back his claw.  
  
Arc continues in a loud enough voice so she can hear. “Real simple. If you think your hand is the best out of all of us, you can ‘bet’ and throw in more coins. The rest of us have to match that, ‘raise’ it with even more, or ‘fold’ and forfeit everything we’ve contributed. We’ll still do the card swap-out thing I already showed you. Whoever has the best hand without folding wins the whole pot.” He grins deviously.  
  
Kach comes back and reluctantly extracts ten coins as Philo rubs his claws together with anticipation. “Now _this_ is the kind of thing I’ve been waiting for. You’re on, zapbutt.”  
  
Arc shoots him an innocent look. “Eat my dust, crocface.” And picks up his hand.  
  
  
  
  
Eventually, they had to stop because Arc ran out of coins.  
  
Kach, surprisingly, came out in front with 67.  
  
And Philo almost broke even with a loss of 8.  
  
  
  
Arc wasn’t mad though. The money was hers anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks Thanksgiving in the United States! So I want to take advantage of the opportunity to give thanks for _Shatter_ and you all.
> 
> I’ve been workshopping a story off and on for 5 years now. It’s a passion project for me, but in my attempts to unravel the details and perfect it, I found myself running into block after block. Even after doing extensive planning and taking time off work to write. It’s been frustrating, discouraging. 
> 
> Then this June I had a random idea for a story, my own take on a Mystery Dungeon fic. I thought “what the heck, the ideas are flowing, let’s see where this goes.” 
> 
> I’d also never published online before. So, as a way to externalize the motivation a bit (and overcome my own fears), I published _PMD: Shatter_ here. Partly hoping for a reader or two, but mostly to prove to myself I could write something.
> 
> What resulted is one of the most satisfying creative experiences I’ve had in a long, long time.
> 
> What’s been even more crazy is how you all have received _Shatter_. I think I’ve been convinced at this point (maybe) that _Shatter_ is (possibly) a good story. And I earnestly hope I can follow through on that! But already the enjoyment I’ve seen from you all has been so rewarding, and such a motivator. 
> 
> Thank you for reading _Shatter_ this year. 
> 
> And I hope that, wherever you are, whatever your situation might be, you can find something to be grateful for. Even in the midst of a global pandemic, I think there is much to be grateful for. 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving 😊


	48. Chapter 48

Lessa tosses on her mattress, moonlight shafting across her chest.  
  
Stray straw stalks poke through the coarse fabric, pricking and itching her back no matter where she lies. With a huff of frustration she gets up and throws her blanket on top, and flops down on top of that.  
  
But the blanket, even just to lie on, is an oven. A soppy woolen fleece that would melt a bergmite’s shell in the dead of winter. Why in the world would they give a fire elemental a blanket like this? In _summer,_ no less? It feels like arcanine breath.  
  
Eventually she rips the blanket out from under her and tosses it on the termite-eaten table in the corner. Gets up, grabs her cloak instead, wraps herself in it, and flumps back down again.  
  
Of course, the cloak is waterproof, waxy. She feels like she’s suffocating. Like water is condensing on the fabric, like sweat is dripping down her legs.  
  
  
  
Exasperated, she rolls out of the cloak, off the mattress, onto the hard dirt ground, and lies there.  
  
  
  
Stares at the line between the wall and the floor. At the silvery light, playing off the hard-packed earth.  
  
  
  
_What am I doing here…_  
  
  
  
  
  
She used to curl up next to Killian on a hot night like this. Feel his cool back against hers. And sometimes…he’d roll over, and reach over and pull her close—  
  
She screws her eyes shut, screws her paws into them further.  
  
_No. I can’t._  
  
_He’s gone._  
  
  
  
_He’s…gone._  
  
  
  
She pulls her hands away. Face damp from the tears she squeezed out.  
  
  
  
  
  
She sighs.  
  
Pulls herself up, cross-legged.  
  
  
  
  
  
Realizes she’s staring blankly at her father’s knapsack, rumpled on the floor.  
  
  
  
…She hesitates.  
  
  
  
Then groans as she pulls herself up, walks over to the pack and picks it up.  
  
Carries it back to the bed, sits down. Swipes a quick divot in the ground, plants a tall taper inside, and lights it with a small _ember._ The soft warm light pushes away the silvery night light.  
  
She rummages around in the bag until she finds the first. Pulls it out. A thin scroll, wrapped in waxed wooloo fleece.  
  
  
  
Considers it for a moment.  
  
Considers…them.  
  
  
  
She unwraps it and begins rereading.


	49. Chapter 49

The dusky glow of the furnace washes over the workshop, pushing away the inky night. It’s already been vented, cooling, done. The stars watch up above, curious.  
  
  
  
Fierra stares at the set of wheel bearings, one small and the other smaller. And looks back at the bark plans.  
  
She can see why Arc proposed the curious design. Given that the central bar supporting the wheels curves around the pikachu’s body, it can’t twist like a typical cart axle can. Not to mention that each needs to rotate independently, in order for him to turn in place.  
  
A collection of small metal beads lies in a wooden bowl on her workbench. She spent the last three nights beating, filing, and polishing the tiny metal drops into spheres. Well, close enough for spheres. How in the world do they make these in Tidal Shores? She worries that her knowledge and technique might be outdated.  
  
But she rolled them around a hundred times in her palm, and they glide pretty well. It’s the best they’re going to get.  
  
Illuminated by a dark orange warmth, Fierra picks up the larger ring of the bearing set, and begins dropping a number of beads into the cavity inside. Once she has five or six, all collected at the bottom, she interlocks the lip of the smaller bearing with the beads and tries to pop it into the gap.  
  
She strains. Wrestles with two tiny circles a hundredth her size. Is one of the beads too big?  
  
_~ clik ~_  
  
She sighs with relief. It’s in.  
  
She jiggles the set, allowing the beads to spread out between the loops. Pinching the inner ring, she gives the outer one a spin. It whirrs around a few times with a high-pitched _~ wheeen ~,_ but then abruptly comes to a stop. Thankfully none of the beads fall out.  
  
She reaches for her container of oil. Pulls out a wooden dowel and waits for the liquid to dribble down. She bought the stuff from a merchant years ago. Said they stumbled across it bubbling from the ground, way down on the southwestern coast. After some of her own experimenting, heating and cooling and skimming off, she produced a lubricating fluid that’s much more effective and long-lasting than vegetable oils.  
  
She brings the dowel to the bearing. A couple of drops in the works, and…  
  
…it spins for a good ten seconds.  
  
  
  
A humble smile lights up Fierra’s face. She gives it another turn. And another.  
  
The balls can get jammed; it’d be better if she could keep them separated. And the action could be a lot smoother in general.  
  
But it works.  
  
  
  
The typhlosion leans back against the rusty pole, the roof above groaning in protest.  
  
She scratches at the bandage wrapped around her neck and breathes deeply.  
  
_It works._  
  
It works.  
  
That was the biggest hurdle. She can make two wheels easily, though she hasn’t yet decided on wood or metal. Then, after that, the other bearing, fuse them to the frame, mount the wheels, make a sling, and finally the brakes.  
  
  
  
And Arc will walk again.


	50. Chapter 50

Leagues away, in the darkness of the forest.  
  
  
  
A rumble.  
  
  
  
A vibration.  
  
  
  
A shimmer.  
  
  
  
The corruption trembles like the skin of a drum, like a bowstring taut and rigid.  
  
  
  
…The energy cannot be contained.


	51. Chapter 51

“I have returned.”  
  
  
  
…?  
  
  
  
“I have come to fulfill my promise to you.”  
  
  
  
I  
  
  
  
“…We need you.”  
  
  
  
You…need me?  
  
  
  
“And so, I will try to recompense for what was done.”  
  
  
  
—wait, ‘you need me,’ that’s what—  
  
  
  
“It pains me to ask this, but…”  
  
  
  
Do you know who sent—  
  
  
  
“Please. Save us.”  
  
  
  
_Wait—_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**The overpowering image**  
  
**of a great black monster**  
  
**with glowing red eyes.**


	52. Chapter 52

Birds chirping, in the distance.  
  
  
  
Arc’s eyes flutter open. He stares up at the dark wooden beams, the thatched roof beyond. The air seems to glow with warmth.  
  
Kach’s cabin.  
  
With a groan he stretches and pulls himself up. His dry and stiff bandana falls off his forehead.  
  
The cabin is empty. Radiant sunlight shafts almost straight down through the eastern window, casting the counters brilliantly: it’s almost noon.  
  
No sign of Kach or Evelin. _Must have overslept._  
  
Arc rubs his eyes, yawns, rolls his neck to get the crick out. He’s not usually a late sleeper, but it’s not surprising given the dozy warmth.  
  
  
  
Something feels off.  
  
He passes another glance over the kitchen. The door is closed, the pans and bowls are put away. Everything is where it should.  
  
He rubs his jawline. Absently feels an ear. No change there. As pikachu as ever.  
  
He looks down at his lap. In the heat of summer Kach pulled the blankets to the foot of the bed, leaving his legs bare. Same old same old.  
  
Except…  
  
The fur is sticking up, fuzzy. He skates a hand over the top of a leg, feeling the hairs tickle his palm. _Weird._  
  
He smacks his tongue, his mouth a cotton ball. _Must be the dry air._ He reaches for his watersack on the crate next to him, but it’s empty.  
  
He then notices the plate of food on his crate. Two loaves and a green fruit. Arc smiles; Kach must have left them. He gratefully bites into the fruit, juice dribbling down his chin. It’s one of his favorites, the flesh pungent, reminiscent of mangos and passionfruit.  
  
Still, as he eats, he feels uneasy. Jittery. As if he drank three cups of coffee in his sleep. Is that why?  
  
He shakes his head to dispel the feeling. Wipes his mouth with his bandana (he’ll ask Kach to wash it later) and reaches for his stack of bark and charcoal. Might as well doodle something and use his brain a little before it turns into solitaire mush.  
  
  
  
Arc can’t focus on his drawing.  
  
The anxiety buzzing in his chest keeps distracting him. Reminds him of second grade, of fidgeting at his desk while his teacher droned on about the pronunciation of ‘ough:’ “ooh ouh uff off ah ow.” Of wanting to escape, to run and climb and jump at recess.  
  
He rubs his face. Would that he could blow off some energy, but it’d be unwise to do pushups without a spotter.  
  
With a sigh he sets down his charcoal and reaches for a doughy loaf. He hasn’t felt this many butterflies since he asked his crush to junior prom.  
  
  
  
He freezes mid-bite.  
  
Removes the loaf from his mouth.  
  
  
  
His right leg is shaking, bouncing nervously, on the bed.  
  
  
  
He slowly reaches out with his free hand and places it on his thigh.  
  
It stops.  
  
He removes the hand.  
  
Nothing happens.  
  
  
  
He blinks. _What the hell…?_  
  
  
  
Movement, out the corner of his eye. He whips his head to look at his left leg.  
  
As  
it  
slowly  
slides  
out  
straight.  
  
  
  
Arc, not daring to look away, tries to put back the loaf, misses, it falls on the ground, he ignores it.  
  
His heart is beating out of his chest.  
  
  
  
He pokes one. Just the same as usual, his finger feels it but his leg can’t. Like the whole thing got a novocaine transfusion.  
  
He thinks for a moment. And then goes to curl his toes.  
  
They **curl.**  
  
_Oh heck._  
  
He goes to flex the other foot. It obeys without question.  
  
Feeling himself start to breathe fast, Arc goes to swing his legs off the bed. He sees his hips and thighs flex, lift up his legs, glide them easily over the mattress, and let them fall, dangling over the side.  
  
_Ohgeezohcrapohheckohsnapoh **shit**_  
  
Running now on pure adrenaline, Arc leans forward, places his hands on the edge, and pushes himself away from the bed.  
  
  
  
He can’t believe it.  
  
  
  
He stands.  
  
On his feet.  
  
On his legs.  
  
On the floor.  
  
  
  
“HOLY _SHIT”_


	53. Chapter 53

Arc stumbles out of Kach’s house.  
  
_Arc stumbles out of Kach’s house._  
  
The noonday sun is blinding. He shades his brow, eyes watering.  
  
Pinewood Town spreads before him, quaint log cabins bobbing in a sea of golden waving grass. Alien, oblong white buildings jut above and behind them like tall shorerocks, dazzling in the sun. Hazy green peaks far away to the right, pine trees carpeting their foothills. And a blue sky filled with little fluffy clouds.  
  
He can’t believe it.  
  
_He can’t believe it._  
  
  
  
He looks down at the waving grass and the brown dirt and the yellow chest and strange rodent knees and little paw feet standing there on the ground.  
  
He takes a step.  
  
His foot steps.  
  
He takes another.  
  
Another is taken.  
  
He can’t feel his legs.  
  
But the grasses tickle his fingers.  
  
“KACH”  
  
He looks up, starts walking.  
  
“KACH WHERE ARE YOU”  
  
Then trotting.  
  
_“KACH”_  
  
Then running.  
  
Arc sprints towards the white egg buildings, his legs churning like a galloping horse, like the rods of a locomotive.  
His lungs heave, struggling to keep up after weeks of disuse. His arms swing back and forth, pumping with energy.  
Blood rushes through his head, his heart beats like a drum in his neck.  
He can’t believe it.  
Even with the grass zooming underneath and the buildings flying past, he still can’t believe it.  
What is happening?  
How can he walk?  
How can he _run?_  
Is he dreaming?  
His mind refuses to function.  
He skips past one cabin, jukes around another.  
A couple neighbors come out, confused by the shouting. Their confusion amplifies when a previously-paralyzed pikachu shoots past them.  
Arc doesn’t see them.  
He’s completely on autopilot.  
A giddy euphoria spreads from his chest out his arms and blossoms in his head. He doesn’t know why this is happening. He can’t know why. He only knows that it _is._  
**And oh sweet heaven on earth it is.**  
_“KACH”_  
He skids into the center of town, where the egg buildings throng, where the square lawn sits.  
Five, six, seven pokémon gape at him. One doesn’t notice the produce tumbling from their basket.  
“KACH NESTE”  
He looks this way and that. Which one is the storehouse?  
The townspeople start to say things. Call things to him. He doesn’t hear them.  
A voice in his head says something. Warns about something. He doesn’t hear it either.  
The adrenaline rushing through him compels him to _go._ To forget about Kach and Neste and Philo and everyone. They’ll all see later. But now, he must _move._  
  
So he does.  
  
All that’s left of him in town is a dust cloud.


	54. Chapter 54

Arc stands at the crown of a hill outside of town, chest heaving, legs shaking.  
  
Before him, a gravel path snakes between and through rises in the land, pointing the way towards the north. A sheer mountain range, thin and spiny peaks, bar the path to the coast. To the east, a thick verdant forest carpets the valley, dark-green bristly treetops as far as the horizon.  
  
He peers eagerly, scanning the land, charting a course along the hill ridge.  
  
Oh, it feels so good to be _alive._  
  
Course set. He crouches down into a runner’s stance.  
  
Grins manically.  
  
_Three._  
  
_Two._  
  
_One._  
  
_**Go.**_  
  
And launches himself, fast as Bolt himself.  
  
  
  
The pikachu screams over the grass, its feathery tips hissing in his ears.  
  
Gravel and dirt fly behind him, a cascading wake under his feet.  
  
He leaps over a boulder, clearing it easily.  
  
He chuffs, gasps, laughs like a schoolchild.  
  
A runner’s high swells within him.  
  
  
  
How could this be?  
  
And yet it is.  
  
  
  
Arc speeds along the ridge, angles himself west. He sees the sunny glint of the town lake.  
  
The lake he landed at.  
  
He smiles through his panting. Let’s go see it. Let’s go _show_ it.  
  
Quickens his pace.  
  
  
  
He feels himself starting to flag. His lungs burn. His neck and arms ache. Adrenaline is spent.  
  
But he pushes himself further. He’s not stopping until he’s back on that sandy beach.  
  
He crests the ridge, turns to run down the vee between hills towards the shimmering water.  
  
  
  
  
  
His legs go limp.  
  
And it all goes to hell.  
  
  
  
  
  
He feels himself falling.  
_wha_  
His left knee snaps up like a mousetrap.  
His right glute collides into his heel and he pitches forward.  
_WHAT_  
His legs kick back and up like a bronco’s.  
He pulls his arms up.  
_**SHIT**_  
He slams his forehead into his forearm into the ground.  
His hips keep their forward momentum. They fly up and over his head.  
“AAHHK”  
He follows his hips. A sudden blast of sunlight white-out the stars in his eyes.  
His butt slams to the ground, a perfect pile-driver.  
“OUGH”  
The impact sends shockwaves up his spine, rattling his skull.  
He throws out a hand to stop himself, collides it with the slope, and feels a sharp pain shoot out of his wrist.  
“GAAAH”  
His chest and head fold over his deadweight legs. Desperately he twists himself, desperate to avoid another head-on impact. The motion drives his shoulder straight into a rock. Pain explodes behind the scapula.  
The twisting flings his legs up and around. They strike the ground like meaty whips.  
He rolls. Every pebble, every clump of grass is a beating.  
He can’t breathe.  
His body screams what his lungs cannot.  
Another roll.  
And another.  
  
And another.  
  
  
And  
  
  
  
another.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc coughs. Hard.  
  
  
  
Clenches his hands.  
  
  
  
Pricks open his eyes.  
  
  
  
Sunlight stabs in, overexposed, painful.  
  
  
  
Pebbles press into his cheek, grass pokes against his ear, sun beats down on his head.  
  
  
  
He groans.  
  
  
  
He pushes himself up, and a cacophony of pain drives him back down.  
  
Pain everywhere.  
  
Wrist. Shoulder. Chest. Skull. Lip.  
  
Road rash. Sprains. Bruises. Welts. Cuts.  
  
  
  
He swears past the pain and forces himself up. Turns and collapses onto his side. Cranes his head down his front.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He’s at the bottom of the hill.  
  
  
  
His legs sprawl on the ground before him.  
  
  
  
Mangled. Grotesque.  
  
  
  
A pool of blood trickles through the grass, spreading from his crimson paws.  
  
  
  
Purple and black and brown and red and yellow.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He can’t move them.  
  
At all.  
  
  
  
He can’t feel them.  
  
At all.  
  
  
  
He never could.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
His head falls back down.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun roasts him alive.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_What_  
  
_the hell_  
  
_just happened_


	55. Chapter 55

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	56. Chapter 56

Voices.  
  
  
  
In the distance.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	57. Chapter 57

Voices above and beside him.  
  
  
  
A shadow falling across his face. The red of his eyelids darkening.  
  
  
  
A sudden chill.  
  
  
  
Rough hands, scaly hands, feeling him, touching him, hurting him.  
  
  
  
He flinches.  
  
  
  
A tender paw on his forehead.  
  
  
  
Voices. Voices.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	58. Chapter 58

Hands.  
  
  
  
Strong claws gripping him. Pulling up on his underarms.  
  
  
  
Fur getting pulled. Torso being stretched.  
  
  
  
Light and shadow. Back and forth.  
  
  
  
Pain.  
  
  
  
Pain.  
  
  
  
Swaying pain.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	59. Chapter 59

_what_  
  
  
  
_happened_  
  
  
  
_to me_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: a brief description of Arc's injuries.

“Kach?”  
  
  
  
“Kach. I need a cloth.”  
  
  
  
The jolteon blinks.  
  
Before her, a basin filled with water, hazy with steam.  
  
Her paws hovering above the water, trembling, twisting a rag.  
  
Blood.  
  
Blood dissolving in the basin.  
  
  
  
Kach shakes her head violently, wrings once more, picks up the pile of damp washed cloths, hurries to Wojtek’s side at the bed, hands him one, picks up another.  
  
Arc’s right foot.  
  
It’s a mess. Two of his pads are almost completely ripped off. A large gash runs up the arch of his foot, where most of the blood was dribbling from.  
  
She finishes cleaning the caked dirt and blood from his toes as the ursaring ties off and cuts a length of twine, tightly binding the arch. He then quickly reaches for his bowl of berry salve, spreads it liberally on the paw, the arch, the knuckles, to keep more blood from seeping out.  
  
She drops the sullied rag and grabs another.  
  
Arc’s left foot.  
  
The left is in a similar state. Smaller cuts, but more of them. A particularly deep one, between his toes, slicing through the webbing and almost reaching bone.  
  
She carefully dabs and wipes the cuts, grateful her cloth is hot, grateful for the metal basin she can electrocute water in. She slathers on salve, sticky, stopping the blood. She looks over; Wojtek’s just finished wrapping the right. Already the clean white linen is stained a bluish crimson.  
  
Kach glances up worriedly.  
  
Arc stares blankly ahead. At nothing.  
  
He hasn’t said anything. At all.  
  
Doesn’t react. At all.  
  
  
  
She hurriedly gathers up the cloths as Wojtek wraps his left foot, hurries to the basin, throws them all in, zaps it zaps it zaps it.  
  
Wrings them. Wrings them. Wrings. Them.  
  
  
  
Stares at the rag, stained maroon, the water, dyed copper.  
  
  
  
They found him almost half a mile out of town.  
  
Lying there in the grass, in the dirt, bruised and bloody and broken.  
  
The townsmon in the square had burst into the storehouse. Clamoring for her. Speaking of miracles and sorcery.  
  
She immediately retrieved Neste from her home and set out to find him.  
  
It took them an hour.  
  
Found him at the bottom of a hill.  
  
Called his name. Shook him. His eyes twitched under the lids, his mouth grimaced: he was awake.  
  
But he didn’t respond.  
  
Draped his bloody legs on her back, while Neste carried him under his arms. Carried him home.  
  
The moment they had him in his bed, she rushed out for Wojtek, as Neste beat back the crowd that was already gathering outside.  
  
The crowd that still clamors. Wanting to know what happened.  
  
  
  
_What happened to you Arc?_  
  
  
  
“—Kach please.”  
  
“Sorry Woj’” she blurts out, wringing hard enough to snap rope, rushing the cloths back.  
  
The ursaring looks to her. Eyes soft, understanding. But he’s right; time is of the essence.  
  
A large bruise and a cut on the right knee. Other small cuts up the thighs. A giant bruise on his rump.  
  
Wojtek treats each one.  
  
Moves up to the living parts.  
  
Kach wipes down his chest, cleans the dirt, removes the grass, exposes the raw skin. Arc winces at that.  
  
Wojtek leans in and squeezes a clawful of cheris onto the rash, to dull the pain. Then eases the pikachu forward and loosely wraps his torso in bandages. Then eases him back against the headboard, muttering, “you’re gonna use up my whole supply here, Arc…”  
  
Just cuts on the left arm: clean, daub, wrap.  
  
Inspects his right wrist. Swollen; sprained, possibly broken. “Kach, do you have any sticks handy we could use for a splint? Either that or could you—“  
  
Without a word Kach rushes into her bedroom.  
  
The room is dark; the shutters are closed. She pulls open the drawer in the low chest she keeps beside her straw mattress. Rummages around, moving aside towels and blankets and mementos. Finds a thin block of wood, two paws long, one paw wide, carved on both sides with a shallow relief of an espeon and umbreon, two halves circling and entwining.  
  
…Shakes her head. Wraps it in a thin kerchief. Hurries back and places it in the ursaring’s claw.  
  
Wojtek blinks. Presses against it, finds it solid. “Huh. That’ll work great. Thanks.” And in short time binds it to Arc’s wrist.  
  
  
  
Forehead.  
  
Cheek.  
  
Ear.  
  
  
  
Wipe. Clean.  
  
Zap. Wring.  
  
Back.  
  
  
  
  
  
Throughout it all, the pikachu is silent.  
  
  
  
  
  
_What happened to you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note:
> 
> I don't plan to have many situations in this story that warrant a content warning. I may use brief imagery without warning, as in the first corrupted fight, but that will be rare. Regardless, with or without a warning, I won't go into more detail than this chapter does.
> 
> All that said, please let me know in the comments if you feel a past or future chapter should have a content warning.


	61. Chapter 61

“Pikachu Arc, sir…”  
  
  
  
It’s getting dark.  
  
Evelin stands hesitantly beside Arc’s bed, gazing up at his face.  
  
His immobile face.  
  
Her tail and ears droop.  
  
  
  
She looks to his plate, resting atop his heavily bandaged legs, the herb and onion pasty cold, untouched.  
  
“Arc sir, you’ve got to eat…”  
  
She looks up again. Sees no response.  
  
  
  
Evelin is scared.  
  
She doesn’t know what to do.  
  
Arc’s been angry before. Stuffy. Irritated.  
  
Same as he’s been happy, joking, sneaky.  
  
But this is different.  
  
It feels like…  
  
  
  
…when she came home one day.  
  
Called for her auntie. Couldn’t find her.  
  
Walked into the bedroom. Dark. Found her, sprawled on her straw mattress.  
  
Unresponsive. Face and nose damp.  
  
  
  
Eventually Neste came by and explained what had happened.  
  
That a group of travelers told them the bad area, the…corruption…had gotten bigger. And that she’d have to stay with Auntie Kach for a while.  
  
That she couldn’t go home.  
  
  
  
Auntie didn’t leave her bedroom that whole day.  
  
  
  
She remembers that day, so long ago,  
  
and she looks up in Arc’s face and sees the same thing.  
  
  
  
Evelin is scared.  
  
She doesn’t know what to do.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She takes the plate and quietly asks him to “please get some sleep, Arc sir,” and puts the plate on the kitchen table and throws sand on the small evening fire and then shuffles off to bed.  
  
Because that’s all she can think of.


	62. Chapter 62

_but could it have happened any time sooner  
it was like  
how could i have done that  
i tried so many times  
so many times to move them  
did the same exact thing, with willpower or thought or however my stupid-ass brain works  
nothing worked  
but then it **did**  
holy hell it did  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
how  
why  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
i should’ve listened  
i could feel it  
something was wrong  
i could tell the moment i woke up  
i couldn’t feel anything  
why did i think i could just—  
up and—  
but then i **did—**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
but did i really?  
i couldn’t feel anything  
the dirt under my toes  
the stretch of my feet  
the grass brushing against my legs  
not even that stupid knee pain i get sometimes  
or that infernal itchiness  
that one time we ran  
me and emily  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
why didn’t i feel any of that  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
because you’re **paralyzed,** you idiot  
not only that  
you’re a stupid ass shithead pikachu  
lightyears—  
centuries—  
dimensions—  
whatever—  
away from home  
with no friends  
no family  
no one  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
not a single damn one  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
wait  
i’m a pokémon  
pokémon don’t exist  
i’m a pikachu and that’s literally impossible  
so then how am i paralyzed  
pokémon don’t get paralyzed  
besides, ash **died**  
got effing obliterated  
and that pikachu of his brought him back to life  
they all cried or something  
some stupid ass tears of healing or some shit  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
what the hell  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
i’ve cried a million tears and that did nothing  
why can’t **i** be healed  
why can’t **i** be brought back to life  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
maybe i was  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
maybe i did something wrong  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
maybe i  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**lost it** oh shit **oh shit** no nonononono please no don’t give me this and then just take it away i didn’t how was i supposed— please whoever it was whoever you are please don’t don’t take it away from me please  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
please  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
don’t  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
i  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
…please…_


	63. Chapter 63

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_**~ SMACK ~**_


	64. Chapter 64

_**~ SMACK ~**_  
  
  
  
“Snap out of it Arc.”  
  
  
  
A blossoming of stinging pain in Arc’s cheek.  
  
  
  
He raises a hand, bandaged, to touch the spot.  
  
  
  
He blinks.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc gazes around the room.  
  
It’s evening, unusually overcast, dim light wafting through the window.  
  
He sees Evelin looking back at him, wide-eyed.  
  
She’s sitting at the kitchen table, on her stool. A bowl is empty before her. Her cheeks are flushed.  
  
With a murmur and a mumble, something like “…I’ll be outside Auntie…,” she timidly hops down from her stool and slinks out the front door.  
  
Where is Kach? Her bowl is empty too. And her stool.  
  
Arc looks down. Nestled between his bandaged legs is a bowl of stew. Some of the liquid has sloshed up onto his wrappings.  
  
There’s a yellow foreleg.  
  
He looks up.  
  
  
  
Kach the jolteon stands above him, on the bed.  
  
  
  
Her fur is rippling and bristling like dry reeds in a stiff breeze. Energy, visible and invisible, crackles up and down her form. Her normally wiry crest juts out, sharp as knives.  
  
Her eyes.  
  
As tumultuous as a summer storm.  
  
  
  
“Talk to me Arc. What happened to you.”  
  
  
  
He can feel himself shrinking under her gaze.  
  
Feels his eyes falling downward. Resting on his legs.  
  
Suddenly his neck strains and his vision blurs as his head is yanked up. A paw clenches under his chin. Forcing him to look at her. Making his cheek twinge again.  
  
“No. You are not doing this again. _What happened to you Arc?”_  
  
  
  
He blinks. Tries to pull away.  
  
Can’t.  
  
Her eyes are steel. “You’ve been sitting here for two days. Haven’t eaten anything. I doubt you’ve slept. No more, Arc. Talk to me.”  
  
  
  
He feels something stir within him. He raises a hand and pulls her arm away. “Leave me alone, Kach.”  
  
She whips her arm out of his. “NO, Arc! I’m not going to leave you alone! Why are you doing this? I know something happened, why are you holding it in? Why won’t you just talk to me?”  
  
  
  
A headache begins to thump.  
  
“You won’t understand.”  
  
She throws her head, brow furrowed, teeth showing. “Because you won’t _let_ me! Time and again I ask, I try to understand. I _found_ you Arc! At the bottom of that hill! You were _beat up!_ Of course I want to help, _of course_ I want to understand!”  
  
  
  
A tumult of emotions—  
pain—  
frustration—  
anger—  
confusion—  
grief—  
despair—  
all of it—  
swirls and churns and festers and blooms until he feels his arm raise up and slap Kach right across the face.  
  
  
  
“Leave. Me. Alone.”  
  
  
  
The jolteon stumbles back, puts a foot into the stew and splashes it across her leg and his leg, loses her footing and half-falls at the end of the bed.  
  
Stares back at him in shock.  
  
  
  
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”  
  
  
  
“Why would I.”  
  
  
  
“You have no idea what I’ve been through.”  
  
  
  
“How could you.”  
  
  
  
“How could any of you…freaks of nature.”  
  
  
  
“Now let me just die in peace.”  
  
“NO!”  
  
Kach surges forward, snatches the bowl in her teeth, flings it halfway across the room, gets right in his face. _“STOP IT, ARC!_ This _isn’t helping!_ This _isn’t_ the way to deal with this! I just want to—just _talk_ to me, Arc!!”  
  
“WOULD YOU JUST—”  
  
He grabs her by the chest and flings her, heaves his whole torso to the side, flings her off the bed.  
  
  
  
**“LEAVE ME ALONE!”**  
  
  
  
Kach crashes and crumples into a heap on the floor.  
  
Arc pushes himself back up, sits there, panting.  
  
  
  
Shouting.  
  
  
  
“YOU PESTER AND ANNOY AND ASK AND ASK AND _ASK—”_  
  
  
  
Cheeks burning.  
  
  
  
“ALL I WANT TO DO IS JUST BE ALONE AND _DROWN—”_  
  
  
  
Tears streaming down his face.  
  
  
  
**“I DON’T OWE YOU _SHIT_ YOU _BITCH!!”_**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The words ring in the cabin.  
  
  
  
Arc knows she doesn’t know them. What they mean.  
  
But she understands them.  
  
  
  
He watches in horror as tears pool, and overflow, and trickle from her eyes.  
  
  
  
Her eyes.  
  
The eyes that listened to him.  
  
Laughed with him.  
  
Encouraged him.  
  
Day after day.  
  
  
  
Smiled back at him as Philo carried him to the lake.  
  
Sparkled in triumph as she bluffed her way to winning the pot.  
  
Watched him, gazed into him, concerned, as he talked about that night, when the corrupted attacked.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s too much.  
  
  
  
Not this too. Not with everything else. Not the realization of what he’s done, not the memories—  
  
  
  
He screams.  
  
  
  
He screams  
and tears at his fur  
and wrenches his ears until they almost rip  
and throws his pillow as hard as he can  
and snatches up the playing cards and hurls them in an explosion of bark  
and seizes the side of the bed  
and pulls with all his strength  
and falls out like a dead goose  
and lands on his bruised shoulder  
and screams.  
  
  
  
Lies there, immobile, screaming sobbing dying.  
  
  
  
The memories.  
  
  
  
His mother and father. With the same eyes.  
  
His high school best friend. With the same eyes.  
  
His  
  
  
  
His sister  
  
  
  
With the same eyes  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He can’t  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He’s being lifted up.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He cranes his neck to see Kach sitting behind him, trying her best with her awkward quadrupedal arms to pull him up, to rest against her.  
  
Her face is sodden with tears too. And yet here she is.  
  
  
  
He stares at her, incredulous, through water-streaked eyes.  
  
  
  
“Kach I—“  
  
She puts a paw to his mouth.  
  
“Arc.”  
  
  
  
“You don’t have to do this alone.”  
  
“I’m not giving up on you. You never gave up on yourself.”  
  
“And I’m not letting go of you until you tell me what happened.”  
  
“Because I’ve been before where you are now. And just because I didn’t have someone doesn’t mean you have to.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“That’s all, Arc. Just tell me.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He tells her.  
  
Broken, hesitating, before spilling out in a flood of words.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“…I…  
  
  
“…I woke up, Kach.  
  
  
  
“I woke up and I could—I could move my legs.  
  
“I don’t know what happened. I was just—  
  
“Sitting there. Eating some of your bread when…my leg started moving. Bouncing, shaking all on its own.  
  
“And next thing I know,  
  
“I’m moving them, I’m getting out of bed, I’m walking out of the house, I’m running through town  
  
“All the while knowing that the whole time I was still paralyzed—I could move my legs but I couldn’t feel them—couldn’t feel anything—  
  
“And in my euphoria, in my _stupidity,_ I ignored it, ignored the warning in the back of my head, continuing on like a dumbass  
  
“And then I get out of town and I’m about to reach the lake and everything goes to shit and I collapse and fall and nearly kill myself and I open my eyes and I can’t move my legs anymore and I can’t feel them still”  
  
“And I’m sitting here watching you and Woj patch me up and I’m trying to understand, trying to figure out what happened, wracking my brain and breaking my brain and pleading and praying and I don’t know what  
  
“And I just can’t do this Kach  
  
  
  
“I can’t  
  
  
  
“I can’t deal with this  
  
  
  
“Maybe I was before  
  
  
  
“Maybe I was coping  
  
  
  
“But then the universe screws with me like this?  
  
  
  
“Does the literal impossible and gives me back this thing  
  
  
  
“Only for it to just—  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I can’t effing do this, Kach  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“What am I supposed to do  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I just  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I just want to go home  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I just want to see my family again  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I just want to see Emily again  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Two canine arms wrap around him.  
  
Hold him tight.  
  
He can feel soft fur brushing against his.  
  
Chin resting on his head.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“It’s okay, Arc.”  
  
  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
  
  
_“You_ are okay.”  
  
  
  
“You are enough.”  
  
  
  
“You always were.”  
  
  
  
“I don’t know why this has happened to you.”  
  
  
  
“But I do know that you are the most capable being I know.”  
  
  
  
“More than anyone else, you can do it.”  
  
  
  
“You already have. So many times.”  
  
  
  
“And very soon,  
  
  
  
“Fierra will finish your wheel-legs,  
  
  
  
“and you will leave Pinewood Town and find your way home.”  
  
  
  
“I know you will.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And,  
  
  
  
as Arc sits on the ground  
  
and clutches onto Kach’s arms  
  
and shudders  
  
and cries into her chest,  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
his toes curl once more.  
  
  
  
  
  


END OF PART 3 


	65. Chapter 65

  


### PART 4:

#### Forming

  
  
  
  
Arc stands at the door to the blacksmith’s home, fur washed, bandana a clean evergreen.  
  
  
  
He stands in the shadow of the oblong building, off-white and tall. Like two alien eggs crash-landed into the hill. The sun has already started its morning blaze; hence, taking shelter in the shade.  
  
He brushes his hand over the surface of the house. The texture is pebbly and rough, the touch cool. Kind of like the underside of a porcelain dish, the part not covered in glaze. Except, coarser, larger grains. Brown and black dust peppers the lower surfaces.  
  
It vaguely reminds him of the space shuttle. That he saw once, at the air and space museum.  
  
  
  
A dark blue cloth flutters in the entryway. A simple wave motif, white and light blue, marches up and down the sides.  
  
Arc leans this way and that, peeking past the cloth to the interior. Can’t see any motion or signs of life.  
  
Nor is there a door to knock on. At least that he can see.  
  
He bends down and searches for a rock. There: a large-ish pebble. He picks it up and raps it against the side of the house.  
  
“Hello? Anyone there?”  
  
  
  
Suddenly a small fire shrew pushes aside the cloth and peers up at him.  
  
And gasps, agape.  
  
  
  
Arc smiles warmly. “Morning Flint. Is your mom home?”  
  
  
  
Flint blinks several times, but doesn’t move.  
  
Arc frowns. Opens his mouth to try again, when the cyndaquil dashes out past him and around the house.  
  
  
  
_Oh. Duh. Of course she’s out back._  
  
Feeling a bit sheepish, Arc stays there, waiting. Shuffling his tightly-wrapped feet a little in the grass.  
  
  
  
He still can’t get used to how strange that is. Everything his senses tell him suggest that there’s nothing down there. No sensation, no strain = no legs, no feet. Except for one feeling: that invisible “sixth sense” they always forget to teach in school. The sense that allows him to know his fingers are spread wide in front of his face, even when his eyes are closed. The sense that now tells him his right foot is directly underneath, his left knee slightly bent.  
  
And of course, when he looks down,  
  
there they are.  
  
  
  
“So it’s true.”  
  
He looks up.  
  
Fierra comes around the house, backlit by the mid-morning sun. Stands there, wiping her brow with a towel on her shoulder, staring him down. As intimidating as ever.  
  
Arc nods.  
  
She looks…confused.  
  
He clears his throat and smiles. “I want to work for you. I meant it when I said I didn’t want charity. I’ll work until I’ve paid off the wheel-legs.”  
  
  
  
Flint, who’s come up alongside her mother, looks up at her in astonishment. Even the usually stoic typhlosion’s eyes widen.  
  
She gestures at him. At his legs. Which are standing. “But…?”  
  
Arc laughs a little, scratching the back of his head. “I’m…sure you heard about my accident. I think they’d still be useful.”  
  
But he squares his stance once again, to look every inch the able and willing worker. “Regardless, I owe you, and I intend to repay.”  
  
  
  
The door cloth waves in the breeze.  
  
  
  
A small smile creeps across Fierra’s face.  
  
“…I’d be happy to have you, Arc.”  
  
She turns and motions to him. “Come. Let me show you out back. Have you worked in a metalworking shop before?”


	66. Chapter 66

“Yow!”  
  
Vidri jams his thumb into his mouth, sucks on it.  
  
_Splashin’ needle…_  
  
Slowly pulls it out; thankfully it’s not bleeding. He sighs as he picks up the needle again and resumes sewing.  
  
He can’t wait to be done with this old beaten-up bellows. Gotta be the fourth time he’s had to patch it. And after the hassle with Flint’s smaller one…  
  
Once he gets to the Shores, he’ll build his own, two of them, one powerful to start the fire and one foot-operated to control it. Maybe using some of that new-fangled “rubber” stuff. Never’d have to patch anything again.  
  
  
  
Vidri sits cross-legged near the hearth, the opposite furnace already vented and cooled, his piece inside annealing, his practice done for the day. Even with the shade from the metal roof, he can feel himself slowly cooking. Heat ripples radiate from the shining vibrant surface of the house. And it’s barely midsummer.  
  
“…glad to hear it, but to start we’ll probably just have you observe.”  
  
He hears Fierra come around the bend. Talking to a customer, probably. He idly throws a glance up, curious what species of pokémon it is.  
  
  
  
His jaw drops.  
  
  
  
It’s Arc.  
  
  
  
He’s…walking.  
  
  
  
Vidri stares as Fierra leads him to the furnace. “So we have two fires here. The hearth over there we use for heating and forming metals. While this furnace is for baking and cooling. Vidri also uses it to practice glassmaking; as you can see he has a bowl in there now.“  
  
_How in the—_  
  
_How did he—_  
  
The pikachu leans forward to peer in the glory hole, lifting a hand to shield his face from the heat. “Wow. Impressive. I don’t remember hearing that he blows glass?”  
  
Fierra wipes her brow again. Vidri was practicing decorative layering, and so she drizzled on molten glass while he held and rotated the main piece on his pipe. The crucible was extremely hot, even with gloves on.  
  
“He’s excellent,” she replies. “No doubt he’ll be a fine artisan.” Vidri’s ears burn.  
  
“Oh snap, check it out!” The pikachu _leaps_ to the far end of the shop, like some sort of morning zebstrika, over to the worktable, to the wheel-leg frame lying there. His legs are all wrapped, as if, after this he’ll jog on down to Centro to train with a hitmonlee.  
  
Vidri whips his head down as Arc passes. Laser-focuses on the bellows and the patch. His own patches prickling.  
  
“This is looking amazing, Fierra! So much better than your drawing—no offense. Oh and look, the ball bearing spins great!”  
  
Thread in, pull out. Thread in, pull out. Watch the needle. Ignore the conversation.  
  
“Yes. That was a great idea you had. I’m very sure I’ll use it again in the future.”  
  
Set down the needle. Test the airtightness. Check for a sure binding. Grab the needle again. Just fifteen more stitches to go.  
  
“What’s left to be done?”  
  
_It’s impossible. No one could recover from an injury like that. Not even the legends._  
  
“The brakes, the seat, and putting it all together. I’ve got the wheels back here. Welding them to the hubs will be tricky. If you have any other ideas on that, I’d love to hear them.”  
  
Five. In, out. Four. In, out. Three. In, out. Test. Still good. Two. In, out.  
  
The pikachu laughs nervously. “That’s about all I’ve got, unfortunately. Like I said before, I’ve only seen this done…once before. I-In Tidal Shores, at my uncle’s shop. And you already changed the design. Haha.”  
  
  
  
Done. Finally. Vidri snips the line and hurriedly wraps the remaining twine around his needle, standing to go inside until—  
  
“Ah, Vidri. You’ve finished.”  
  
He freezes. _Toxic._  
  
His mother walks over to check his handiwork. Crouches down, runs a paw over the bag fabric, depresses the bellows a couple times, listens to it wheeze: no leakage.  
  
She looks up and smiles at him. “Excellent job. Thank you Vidri.”  
  
He rolls his eyes. First the artisan comment, now this. She’s been getting more and more sappy every day. Next she’s going to buy him a cake from Kach or something.  
  
Fierra stands back up and gestures to Arc. “Come on over, Arc.” The pikachu does. “Vidri, Arc wants to work with us, to pay off his wheel-legs. I’ll need you to help him learn the moves, since Flint starts on the small bellows for our orders this week.”  
  
Vidri immediately opens his mouth to protest. “But mom, I—“  
  
And immediately closes it at his mother’s look. Her signature look.  
  
His head patches spark a little. They actually flare once he notices Arc’s cheeky grin.  
  
Furious, that he’s saddled with the pikachu, that he let his emotions show, he storms away, over to his bag. Slings it over his shoulder and strides out of the shop, tying on his headband as he goes. “Fine. Come on Arc. We need to get a few things from town.”  
  
Behind him he hears “thanks Fierra, ma’am! I’ll do my best!” and soon the pikachu walks alongside him, with a bounce in his step.  
  
A _bounce._ In his _step._  
  
  
  
_Giratina, what in distortion’s name is this?_  
  
  
  



	67. Chapter 67

Arc plucks a long stalk of grass and chews on it as they walk down the hill from the fire-types’ home.  
  
He notices that he and Vidri are about the same height. _I guess I’m tall for a pikachu? How tall are pikachus, usually?_  
  
“Hey Vidri. How tall are pikachus, usually?”  
  
He sees Vidri grind his teeth a little. “…Any range of sizes. If they don’t evolve, they tend to continue growing up to a raichu’s height.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
  
  
They come down off the hill.  
  
  
  
“So you’re a glassman, huh? Or a glass- _mon,_ I guess. How long have you been doing that?”  
  
“………Almost a year now.”  
  
Arc whistles. “A year! And you’re already that good! I’m impressed, weaselface.”  
  
Vidri practically screeches to a halt, whips around, his bag flinging around his torso.  
  
“What did you call me?” Glares at him, his eyes incandescent.  
  
Arc doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles back. “Weaselface.”  
  
The quilava snorts. Gives him another look, before he turns back and resumes walking. “Huh. Thought you said ‘sneasel.’ Let me guess. Some sort of _hue-mon_ expression?”  
  
Grinning as if enjoying a walk on the beach, Arc follows. “You could say that. …Sulfurbreath.”  
  
The little red patches at the top of the quilava’s head start sparking again. Arc was a bit surprised the first time, back at the forge. Thankfully he didn’t let it show.  
  
Vidri’s kinda cute when he’s flustered.  
  
Arc scratches his chin. “Yeahhh, that was a bit of a cheapshot. My bad. Just trying to think of a good nickname for you. How about…longboi?”  
  
Arc nearly bumps right into Vidri. He doesn’t even turn around this time. Just tilts his head sideways, fuming out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Don’t even dare.”  
  
Arc is loving every minute of this.  
  
He stretches, groaning contentedly. “How old are you, Vidri?”  
  
The menacing eye corner blinks a couple times, instantly looking a lot less intimidating and a lot more adorable. “I, uh…I’m twenty-one. What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
_Twenty- **one**? He acts just like a high-school freshman!_ Arc starts walking again, leaving the quilava behind. “Nothing. Just curious.”  
  
And laughs silently to himself as Vidri angrily storms past.  
  
This is going to be so much fun.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Just tell me this. How in distortion are you walking right now?”  
  
Arc and Vidri are standing before a table littered with ingots, colored powders, and raw ore. The next table over is covered in fruits and vegetables, though he only sees a handful of the special “berries” pokémon seem to like.  
  
About seven other tables line the walls of the medium-sized ceramic storehouse, wedged between piles of sacks of grain, brilliant shafts of sunlight streaking through shuttered windows. It feels just like a shady flea-market, if housed inside an extremely modern-looking gallery space.  
  
He had hoped Philo might be manning this spot, but it’s apparently a merchant from out of town. A ferocious looking panda that could probably crush him to a pulp in an instant.  
  
Arc picks up a small, shiny metal sticking out of rock and turns it in his hand, allowing the window light to reflect off the tiny facets. “And how much is this?” he asks, pointedly ignoring Vidri’s question.  
  
The panda grumbles proudly. “Ah yes, raw, pure Everdry gold. Probably could have that’uns momma smelt it for ya.” They raise a paw to their mouth, as if to tell a secret and look stupid while doing it. “Don’t tell anyone, but I managed to sneak it out of the mines myself. Got chased by three guards. I can let it go for, ah, sixty coins.”  
  
“Sixty??” Arc snorts. “For this little thing? This is _fool’s_ gold, you _charlatan._ What are you trying to push on me?”  
  
The panda blusters, waving his giant claws to shush the pikachu. _“Quiet!_ Not so loud! Okay okay it’s pyrite, but look I promise”—picks up a square block of metal—“the rest of this is refined iron, excellent quality, I ain’t lying. Vidri here can tell, right?”  
  
Said pokémon hisses in his ear. _“Arc what in the legends’ name are you **doing** ”_  
  
“Seventy-five,” says Arc cooly. “Seventy-five for three ingots.”  
  
If the panda was a fire-type Arc’s sure his head would explode. Vidri’s nearly does. Thank everything above the quilava manages to keep his mouth shut.  
  
“Hundred,” the panda croaks out.  
  
“Eighty. Or I go talk to Neste about the kind of cheap metal you’re passing off as gold.”  
  
  
  
The panda considers it for a moment. Looks between the two, the pikachu and the quilava. And then nods, defeated.  
  
Vidri just stands there, in shock.  
  
Arc takes the bag from his hands, reaches in for the money pouch, and counts out eighty coins, clinking them onto the table one by one. “Pleasure doing business with you!” And then sweeps the ingots into the bag with a _~ kaclank ~_ and brushes away without a look back.  
  
A moment later he feels the bag strap and himself get yanked back. With a huge grin on his face he allows himself to be dragged outside the storehouse.  
  
“Arc are you _insane??_ Shoots is our only metal vendor! We can’t risk alienating him—“  
  
Arc reaches into the bag for one of Kach’s buns and takes a big bite. He was sure to stop by her stall first. “Whart abert da quarrah?”  
  
“Do you _know_ how sparse it’s been? Can you imagine the amount of work it would take to refine the ore we _have_ found? We haven’t been able to go deep enough to find—oh gimme that.” Vidri swipes the bag out of Arc’s arms. The pikachu surrenders it easily, still chewing on doughy bread.  
  
Vidri reaches in to pull out one of the ingots. _“Hydro pump,_ Arc. This one alone is worth at least forty coins.” He puts the ingot back in and shoulders the bag. “I’m going back. I’m going to give him what this is worth—“  
  
Arc stuffs the rest of his bun in Vidri’s mouth. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to undo all my honest haggling. Have you seriously been buying everything at seller’s price? No wonder you sleep in a hammock.” He then yoinks the money pouch out of Vidri’s hands and walks back inside. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s some jewelry in there I want to check out.”  
  
Leaving the quilava apoplectic.  
  
  
  
Arc peruses the array of simple bangles and pendants, pointedly ignoring the hot glares from the panda. Man, that felt good.  
  
His ear twitches as he hears barely muffled whispering from the pair two tables over.  
  
What _doesn’t_ feel good are the eyes of all the other townspeople. They haven’t stopped stealing glances since he came in twenty minutes ago. He makes a conscious effort to ignore each and every one of them. They won’t get the satisfaction of his attention, not after ignoring him the whole time he lay in bed, not after nearly trampling Kach’s door down after his accident.  
  
A silvery glint on the table below catches Arc’s eye. A simple pair of rings, hinged and locking.  
  
He points to them. “How much are those?”  
  
The owner, a young-looking white and green dancehall reject, nods. “The steel fingerlets? Thirty-six coins.”  
  
He grins. “Done.” Pays for the set and scoops them up. Gingerly he feels up and down his left ear for the spot. “—There they are.” And clicks one and two into the holes.  
  
The jewelry vendor blinks. “That…isn’t what those are intended for, but…” Tilts her head. “They look good on you. But how do you have holes…?”  
  
Arc chuckles. “Piercings. They healed open. Wouldn’t recommend it.” He nods to the vendor, “thanks!” and leaves, throwing Kach a jolly wave on his way out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“…You never answered my question.”  
  
The two walk back to the blacksmith shop, muffled _~ bungs ~_ ringing from Vidri’s bag. Hopefully they don’t crush the berries and herbs they got for Fierra’s satchel.  
  
Arc frowns, putting a hand to his chin. “Hmm, I forget. Which question?”  
  
A looong and deeeep sigh. “How you’re able to walk, Arc.” Sounds like the quilava is finally vanquished. It was fun while it lasted.  
  
Arc shrugs. “I dunno. Woke up one morning and boom, they work again.”  
  
Vidri shoots him a side-eye. “That’s impossible.”  
  
Arc stops for a moment to stick his foot out and shake it all about. “Yep, I agree. Impossible.”  
  
Vidri just rubs his face for the millionth time.  
  
Arc finishes the hokey-pokey and continues walking. “But so is falling out of the sky in a meteor, right?”  
  
The quilava shakes his head in defeat. “Okay, Arc. Enough. I get it.”  
  
“Get what?”  
  
Vidri throws his hand up, gestures at nothing. “All of this. You’re getting payback. I’m sorry, alright?”  
  
_There it is,_ Arc muses, grinning a little. _Looks like you have some emotional sensitivity after all._ “Sorry for what?”  
  
A pause.  
  
“For…not…”  
  
Arc leans in closer. “Didn’t catch that.”  
  
“…believing you.”  
  
Arc tilts back, satisfied. “Thank you.” He laughs, even. “I mean, _I_ know it’s hard to believe. Waking up some random day after severing your spinal column and being able to walk again? It’s crazy talk. And yet here we are.  
  
“And besides. It’s less about the believing and more about the supporting, you know?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc continues walking, leaving Vidri behind, who stands at the bottom of the hill, holding the bag over his shoulder, watching the tail-less pikachu climb the slope up to his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I have no idea how money works in this world, between the poker match and this hopefully the economy is the slightest bit consistent lmao
> 
> Also! I drew something very silly the other day. Doesn't really fit as an illustration on the story, but whatever I'll share it with y'all [here](https://ag-systems-art-assets.s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/img/shatter-alt-arcs_knees.jpg).
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


	68. Chapter 68

It’s before dawn.  
  
When the world is quiet, the air is still, and the sky just barely begins to glow.  
  
  
  
Arc sits on the edge of his bed, in the dim almost-night.  
  
Staring at his feet.  
  
  
  
Staring.  
  
  
  
He twiddles his toes.  
  
He can’t feel them, the click of the knuckles, the fur brushing in-between,  
  
but twiddle they do.  
  
  
  
A pile of rough cloth strips lies on the ground next to them. Alongside two ovals of canvas cloth, flaps that Wojtek cut for him. Another set of strips, bundled and dirty, rest beside his bedside crate.  
  
  
  
His stomach lurches.  
  
Like he’s staring down his first drop, all those years ago at the skatepark. Board over the lip, front foot toeing the grip, just waiting to fall in.  
  
  
  
Except this isn’t his first drop.  
  
And he knows what happened last time.  
  
  
  
_You have to do this._  
  
_As stupid and infuriating as this whole thing is, it’s a **chance**._  
  
_You can’t just—_  
  
  
  
_…you just gotta do this._  
  
  
  
He sighs. Rubs his face.  
  
  
  
Arc reaches down as his right foot lifts up, pulls it up the rest of the way until it’s resting on his left knee. The pads he lost on his quixotic dash through town are back. But they’re tender, no calluses. All the cuts are healed too, but…  
  
A shiver goes down his spine as he traces the scar up his right arch. The thing is pink, grisly, even in the gloom. A vivid reminder of his joyride.  
  
His eyes glaze.  
  
His stomach lurches even more. This is all so…grotesque.  
  
He shakes his head violently. _No. Don’t dwell on it. Just…_  
  
_…do it._  
  
  
  
Arc sets about getting dressed up.  
  
First, he bites through one cloth strip to get a third shorter piece, which he then uses to tightly bind his arch. Not taking any chances.  
  
Next, he arranges the flaps of canvas, each on top of a strip on the ground, and places his paw feet? feet paws? toes? on them.  
  
Then, shifting his weight more off the bed and onto the flaps, he starts winding the strip around his left foot. Binding the toes, up the foot, around the rodent ankle, up the calf—  
  
Wait. Why is his calf so hard? He feels the right one too: also stiff as a board. He tries massaging them, skin crawling at the sensation of kneading…staticky furry sausage casings filled with half-thawed meat. Only after some effort do they start to loosen.  
  
His legs can get stiff?  
  
Does this mean he needs to stretch still? Can he…get cramps?  
  
An image of getting a charlie horse in the middle of a stroll and not even knowing it— _No, stop, don’t. Focus._  
  
He forces the image away. Finishes the left wrapping, tying it off below the knee, swallowing.  
  
…Last, he wraps his right foot. Before realizing it’s too tight, and he has to loosen both wraps. Don’t want to cut off circulation.  
  
  
  
He pushes himself away from the bed and stands up. Slides his feet around on the flaps. Reaches down to feel manually: they’re snug, but not restrictive. Good.  
  
Should be a decent shoe. At least until he can build up some calluses.  
  
Arc continues down in his bend until he palms the floor (first time he’s ever been able to do that).  
  
And then sets about doing every warmup exercise he can think of.  
Touch the floor.  
Sway from side to side with legs wide.  
Sideways lunges.  
Forward and backward lunges.  
Stand up and pull each knee to the chest.  
Pull each foot back up to his butt.  
High steps.  
Butt kicks.  
Quad stretch on the bed.  
Rotate out each hip.  
Rotate out each foot.  
Even some jumping jacks. During which he almost wipes out when his cloth soles slip.  
  
  
  
He stands there, panting, heart pounding from the near-fall.  
  
  
  
He can hear his housemates’ quiet breathing in the other room.  
  
  
  
Dim indigo gives way to washed-out purple in the sky beyond.  
  
  
  
_This is insane._  
  
_It’s just going to happen again._  
  
_I’m going to—_  
  
  
  
He swallows.  
  
  
  
_No._  
  
  
  
_You’re a pokémon now, remember?_  
  
_Who knows when you’ll actually have to **be** one._  
  
_…’Corruption’ be damned._  
  
_You can’t baby yourself._  
  
_You need to toughen up._  
  
  
  
_You need…to know your limitations._  
  
  
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
  
  
_…It is going to happen again._  
  
  
  
_You can’t let that stop you._  
  
  
  
Arc opens his eyes. Sets his jaw. Glances at Kach’s room.  
  
And walks out into the early morning.


	69. Chapter 69

Arc _~ swiff swiff swiffs ~_ onto the beach, small splashes of sand spraying behind him like those of a dog flinging dirt.  
  
Above him wispy clumps of cotton drift across the sky, catching the morning sunlight with radiant golds and oranges. The surrounding sky grows from violet to cerulean to sky-blue.  
  
His bandaged feet slip and pitch on the miniature dunes. He grits his teeth, a curse on his lips. Why on earth did he think it was a good idea to come here first?  
  
But he—  
  
“Yye-lagh!”  
  
—flops face-first into the sand.  
  
  
  
Arc spits grit out of his mouth and furiously swipes it out of his face. Groaning he picks himself back up, panting, brushing it out of his fur.  
  
_That’s why._ Better a fall here than on hard dirt.   
  
Should help with the coordination too. Maybe.  
  
Quick checkup. Heart’s beating, a bit of ache in his neck. Got a bit of a side-ache too. Bends down to check his legs, but with all the (sandy) wraps, he won’t be able to find any issues until he gets home. That was a simple fall though; there shouldn’t be a sprain.  
  
He stands there for a moment, on the lake beach. Wavering.  
  
It’s hard. _Damn_ hard. Keeping track of the ground and the surroundings and the position of his unfeeling legs and the location of his numb feet.  
  
He shakes his head. _Trust yourself. You’ll get better. Just don’t overdo it._  
  
He sets off again.  
  
  
  
He’s a quarter around the lake when the sun finally erupts from the horizon.  
  
Light spills over the wispy aspen trees that line the far shore, igniting the quivering leaves like actual fire. The lake is a glassy mirror, reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky, reflecting the burning trees with the triumph of summer.  
  
Arc slows to a stop, chest heaving.   
  
  
  
Is it just the fact that he was bedridden for so long?  
  
Or is it just…more beautiful here?  
  
  
  
It takes his breath away.  
  
  
  
Something catches the corner of his eye.  
  
He looks down.  
  
There, on the sand, is a little piece of…glass?  
  
He looks around. There’s more. Little shards of glass, littered on the sand.  
  
He picks it up.   
  
Mostly flat, irregular edge, slight waves and variations in thickness. Translucent. Vaguely yellow-clear.  
  
He turns it over. Curious.  
  
He holds it up to look through, at the sunlit trees.  
  
They shimmer and dance.  
  
  
  
…Didn’t Flint say, that first night in Wojtek’s sickhouse, when Fierra and Neste and everyone came to see him…  
  
…that there was glass all over?  
  
  
  
He can’t help but smile.  
  
  
  
_…How far I’ve come._  
  
_And yet…not very far at all._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc squints.  
  
Lowers the glass.  
  
He thought he saw a flash of blue light, behind the trees.  
  
_What the…_


	70. Chapter 70

The rune hangs in the air for a moment, glowing of itself.  
  
And then frizzes at the lower corner and vanishes.  
  
Lessa curses.  
  
Looks down at the scroll, unwrapped on the rickety table. Traces the lines with her eyes one more time. This is supposed to be one of the easiest?  
  
_Why do I even bother._  
  
She eyes the little hole in the packed dirt floor, filled with water, mocking her.  
  
Novel could do this one in his sleep. _Original ones,_ even Rift figured it out. Made fun of her the whole week following.  
  
She’s reminded all too well why she gave it up years ago.  
  
Flinches at the memory. _No. Come on. No distractions. One more try._  
  
  
  
Deep breath.  
  
  
  
She looks back up. At the window, at the wall, at the door, at nothing.  
  
At the air before her.  
  
Raises her paw.  
  
And traces the rune, leaving behind a trail of blue light.  
  
Inner triangle. Each line straight, each angle equal. Outer circle. Even, centered, cutting through the triangle at six points.  
  
The rune floats, immobile.  
  
No frizzing.  
  
With a yelp of sudden realization she barks out _“—p-plenigaĵo!”_  
  
The rune flashes, vanishes,  
  
and the hole slowly bubbles up with dirt until it is no more.  
  
  
  
Lessa blinks.  
  
The ground is flat.  
  
Tentatively she extends a footpaw to touch the spot. Solid and hard.  
  
With a burst of held breath she sinks to the ground, clutching her face. She can feel the relief and the grief radiating off of her.  
  
_I…_  
  
_I finally did it, Father…_  
  
_~ knok knok ~_  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Arc stands at the door, panting, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.  
  
Takes a step back to look at the place.  
  
The cabin is _old._ Gray, weathered. An actual shingle roof. Yellow and white lichen crusts the eaves and the corners, like an old man’s stubble. Flecks of light flit across the top, sunlight cutting through the aspen leaves nearby.  
  
Cups a hand around his mouth. “Is anyone home?”  
  
He definitely saw the second one. A blue curved line, intersected by a blue straight one. Shining like a blue neon sign. But then it disappeared.  
  
He hears movement within. Hurried shuffling.  
  
“I…” he begins tentatively. “Sorry to intrude, I just saw your Pokémon move outside, and…I didn’t know anybody lived here, so I thought I might introduce—”  
  
Suddenly the door swings inward, a white arm reaches around, grabs him by the chest scruff, and yanks him in.  
  
“Aaaack—“  
  
The sheer surprise (and the slight step at the threshold) makes him stumble, trip, and tumble to the ground, pulling the occupant down with him.  
  
_“Uhnf!_ Hey what's the big—“  
  
“Who are you.”  
  
  
  
Arc finds himself staring down the snout of a very fierce fox.  
  
“I’m-uh—”  
  
“What did you see.”  
  
“I told you, I saw your mov—”  
  
“Did you see anything else?”  
  
“No, I was just out for a run, I didn’t—”  
  
Their eyes narrow.  
  
  
  
He stares back, bewildered.  
  
  
  
After a moment he realizes he’s still in a heap on the floor. He scowls.  
  
“Oh, get off me—” he shoves the fox away and climbs back to his feet. Sand grains rain down from his wraps, tinkling off the hard earth floor.  
  
“Look, I didn’t realize this was your hideout. Let me guess, top secret operation?” Arc asks sarcastically as the fox also gets up, scoffing and brushing themself off. He glances around. The cabin is basically empty, except for a straw mattress, a table that’s more holes than wood, and a bag hastily tossed in the corner.  
  
He whistles. “Geez, you field agents have it rough.”  
  
The fox straightens up, quietly fuming. Taller than he is, walks on their back legs. Yellow, white, red-orange and black color scheme. A ginormous poofy tail in the back; ridiculous tufts sprouting like fire from their ears. Waist forming a skirt or kilt.  
  
Arc blinks.  
  
“Alright I got nothing. Are you some kind of ninetales?”  
  
They glare at her. “And are you some sort of country hick? I’m a _braixen,_ mudsport.”  
  
Arc blinks again.  
  
“A _breaks-in?_ Never mind the weird insult, the heck is that?”  
  
The fox pinches the bridge of their snout with obvious disgust. “Why are you here?”  
  
The tips of Arc’s ears begin to burn. He throws a hand towards the door. _“You’re_ the one who yanked me in here! I already said, I was passing by and wanted to introd…“  
  
  
  
He trails off.  
  
  
  
“—wait.”  
  
  
  
The fox removes their paw to look at him.  
  
  
  
“Breaks-in, breaks-in…  
  
  
  
“Dell…fox…”  
  
  
  
Dell-fox.  
  
  
  
Neste’s somber voice.  
  
Grass in the town square.  
  
White bodies wrapped in linen.  
  
Firelight dancing on the far wall of the pitch black infirmary.  
  
Keening.  
  
  
  
“Wait.”  
  
“About a month ago there was a memorial service in town. A bunch of people died because of a corrupted attack.”  
  
Arc looks back at them with sudden realization.  
  
“Are you related to the dell-fox that we bu—”  
  
  
  
He stops.  
  
Their eyes. _Her_ eyes.  
  
Defiant.  
  
Pained.  
  
Hollow.  
  
  
  
“Oh no.”  
  
  
  
Arc takes a step back.  
  
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize, I didn’t mean to—  
  
“I-I was next door. That night. I’m the reason why you couldn’t use…I was recovering…”  
  
He rubs the back of his head. Shaky breath.  
  
  
  
“…I heard everything.”  
  
  
  
“I heard you. I heard Neste and Wojtek trying to…  
  
  
  
“I heard your father’s last moments.”  
  
  
  
“…I’m so sorry for your loss.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The fox, the _braixen,_ stares at him.  
  
Stares through him.  
  
  
  
At them, through him.  
  
  
  
He averts his eyes, unsure what to do.  
  
  
  
“…Who…are you? Again?”  
  
Her voice is husky.  
  
He looks back. Her eyes glisten.  
  
  
  
He bows slightly. Not sure why, but it feels appropriate. “I’m Arc. T-the Pikachu, I guess. I…  
  
“I arrived here in Pinewood about a week before you did. I was recovering from an injury in the infirmary, which is why they took you to the ursaring’s home.”  
  
  
  
Her eyes flick downward. “…your tail?”  
  
  
  
He shakes his head. “No, that was…from a long time ago. This was…just…a broken rib.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She stands there,  
straight,  
hands curled into fists,  
struggling to maintain grip.  
  
  
  
“Do you know…  
  
“…that you are the first pokémon to visit me…  
  
“…since that day?  
  
“When my life…completely fell apart?”  
  
  
  
Arc is stunned.  
  
_Nobody?_ Not Neste? Not Wojtek? Not _anyone?_  
  
He opens his mouth to ask if—  
  
—when he sees her.  
  
  
  
Her trembling leg.  
  
Her quivering lip.  
  
The emotion barely held, so desperate to release, so afraid to do so.  
  
  
  
Like a teenager. Reminded of their best friend, who…  
  
  
  
He sighs.  
  
  
  
“…I’m sorry.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The braixen turns and walks away.  
  
  
  
Sits down on the low straw mattress.  
  
Facing away from him.  
  
  
  
“Please go.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Arc watches her.  
  
The sunlight spills into the room, filtered by the leaves, waving and shimmering across the room.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Instead, he approaches the bed, and sits down next to her. Watching the opposite wall.  
  
  
  
She doesn’t move.  
  
But nor does she object.  
  
  
  
They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the swishing of aspen leaf.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“…What’s your name?”  
  
  
  
“…Lessa.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The smallest of smiles cracks his face.  
  
“Nice to meet you Lessa.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“…Nice to meet you…Arc.”  
  
  
  



	71. Chapter 71

Arc storms into the storehouse.  
  
Kach is in the middle of her sales pitch for her egg-and-herb turnovers to an oversized Dick van Dyke impersonator when Arc slams the surface of the table, making them jump.  
  
“Kach. Outside. Now.” And turns and storms out.  
  
The jolteon is obviously shocked, but she leans over to her customer—“be right back Luri”—throws a sheet over her wares and follows.  
  
  
  
The pikachu is fuming.  
  
Kach eyes him with concern. “What is this about Arc?”  
  
“Why haven’t you visited Lessa?”  
  
Kach blinks. Frowns. “Who?”  
  
He throws an arm angrily. “Lessa! The _braiks-in?_ Whose entire family _died_ a month ago?”  
  
The jolteon pauses. Face lights with recognition. She sits down and looks at him patiently. “Arc, calm down.”  
  
_“Calm down?_ What is this, Kach??” He starts ranting at the wall of the storehouse. “The damn girl has been living by _herself_ for a whole month, and not you or _anyone else_ goes to visit her—“  
  
“That was her request, Arc.”  
  
“—sure you gave ME help, but to turn your—”  
  
Raises up a little to put a paw on his shoulder. _“Arc.”_  
  
He stops. Turns to her.  
  
She sits back down. “She didn’t want it.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
She shakes her head. “She asked to live there. She said outright that she didn’t want visitors. I was respecting her wishes.”  
  
“Well sure, but she obviously didn’t mean that—”  
  
“That may be—” she begins. And pauses. Then sighs. “…You’re right. I should have gone by, and I’m sorry.  
  
“But don’t think I haven’t been aware of her. She comes to the storehouse once a week. I do what I can to help, slip her an extra loaf or two. But she doesn’t want anything more, it seems.”  
  
  
  
Arc deflates. “…Oh.”  
  
Kach smiles sadly. “These things aren’t easily navigated, Arc. I apologize for my part. I’m sure she’s struggling with how to cope as well.”  
  
  
  
He lets the anger seep out. “Yeah…” Scratches his head. “I get that.” He smiles wearily back.  
  
  
  
He sags against the wall with a sigh. “What do you know about her?”  
  
Kach considers for a moment. “Just a bit more than you do. She and her father, and her companions, were a group of traveling historians. They’d go to a place, learn what they could of the history, offer to help with the harvest or whatever, and then move on. Not sure what purpose they had; Lessa would never say.”  
  
She frowns. “…The first time she came in, she was…inspecting the storehouse. She said she was just getting used to the place, but it seemed like she was…looking for something. I didn’t pry, not so soon after…her misfortune.”  
  
  
  
Arc digests this.  
  
Hand lightly brushing the rough ceramic surface.  
  
  
  
Kach tilts her head. “How did you meet her?”  
  
He chuckles, embarrassed. “I happened to see her—outside her cabin, on my run. I just introduced myself.”  
  
“And? How did she respond?”  
  
He looks at the ground. “…I think she’s lonely.”  
  
  
  
Kach smiles. “In that case, why don’t you go by and visit again? Maybe she’ll open up.”  
  
Arc looks up and smiles too. “Can’t hurt.”  
  
A wily glint shines in her eyes. “Though I wouldn’t recommend more than that. She’s quite a bit younger, you know.”  
  
The sudden eruption of shock then horror then outrage that explodes across his face would make anyone laugh. She nimbly dodges his lunge, cackling all the way.  
  
“Anyway, I have work to do Arc?” She turns her back on him with a flirt and saunters away. “You’d better hurry up too, or Fierra will roast you.”  
  
He kicks after with a laugh of his own. “I hope your customers all choke and die and you get run out of town on a rail.”  
  
“Oh, and leave you and sweet precious Evi hungry? What a shame.” She turns back and winks before retreating inside.  
  
  
  
He smiles. _Good ol’ Kach._  
  
  
  
-/-  
  
  
  
Lessa pulls the scroll out from under the mattress.  
  
Looks at it.  
  
The old parchment is creased and folded…Prism would be livid. At least the inscriptions didn’t smudge. No tears either, thankfully.  
  
She carefully rolls it back up, wraps it in its fleece. Better that than getting discovered.  
  
Places it in her father’s bag and sets it on the table with a creak.  
  
  
  
Goes to look out the window.  
  
  
  
‘Arc.’  
  
She’d heard about this pikachu before. How could she not. He’s probably the most exciting thing to happen to this tiny village in years. She’s lost count of the number of times she heard his name, heard about his…unusual…arrival, from the gossipy townsmon at the storehouse.  
  
Of course. What happened to _her_ was somehow pedestrian in comparison.  
  
  
  
She wonders.  
  
Not so much about his apparent lack of paralysis, though that is indeed curious.  
  
  
  
No.  
  
She wonders why she was so loath to see him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, I'll be switching to **biweekly updates** starting today.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! ^_^


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